


Civilities

by DellaAvril



Category: Hellsing
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-23
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2018-09-01 15:02:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8628892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DellaAvril/pseuds/DellaAvril
Summary: Seras Victoria is the unmarried eldest daughter of a social-climbing London family. By what seems a stroke of good luck, Seras attracts the attention of a foreign nobleman.





	1. notitiam

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Hellsing, but I wish that I did. I'd be very rich and happy.
> 
>  
> 
> ** =noted/further explained at the bottom of the page

Seras couldn't remember the last time she'd felt so anxious.

Yes, her corset _was_ simply too tight and her bust _was_ showing too much for her liking, but such small wardrobe malfunctions didn't matter. The pale blue dress her mother had pulled from her wardrobe _was_ old, but Seras could overlook it. Her satin slippers _were_ rather faded, but no one's eyes would be lingering on her feet for very long. And while she did indeed have to settle with more flowers instead of diamonds, but such trivialities had never worried her before.

Seras smiled at her reflection in the full-length mirror and spared it an uncharacteristically girlish twirl and giggle. She pinched her cheeks and bit her lips for a quick pop of color and smiled at the results. She looked like such a doll with her smooth blonde hair, delicate silk gloves, and painted face. 

Yes, she was beautiful. Her mother had made sure of it. 

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably. Yes, she was beautiful, but she was not the Seras Victoria she knew. 

However, it would have to do for the night.

The Victoria family had finally been invited to a highly-anticipated _ton_ * ball, complete with ballroom dancing, floor masters, aristocrats, visiting nobles and the like at Woburn Abbey. Her mother had practically swooned when the invitation was delivered two weeks ago, and her father had nearly thrown out his back by taking up so many new cases in order to purchase the newest fashions for the event. However, even her father knew that being formally accepted in to polite society was an investment that would pay well for itself over time.

Seras personally thought her family was well-off enough, but the perks of having connected connections were impossible to ignore. At the moment the Victorias were comfortably upper-middle class and could call on one of two of the landed gentry, but being invited to Woburn Abbey was something else entirely. It was a big night for her family, and Seras was obligated to perform her duty regardless of how she felt about the matter. 

There was a quick knock at her door before it was flung open.

Seras started and dropped her hairbrush, cringing when it hit the ground with a sharp thud. Oh dear, she hoped its delicate silver back hadn't shattered – it was one of the nicer things that she owned. Her mother, thank god, hadn't seemed to notice.

"Seras, have you seen Edith? The carriage is waiting, and I haven't even had the time to choose her brooch…" The frantic woman wasted no time and brushed past her eldest daughter in search of the youngest. Seras couldn't help but laugh.

"Don't fret, mother. I helped her dress quite a bit ago – I believe she's using the mirror in the water closet to apply rouge." Seras smiled at her mother and reached for her shawl and fan. 

Her mother wasn't usually so excitable, but this evening was an exception. 

"Rouge? Rouge! What business do respectable young ladies have with _rouge_?" Her mother practically wailed in exasperation, swiftly turning on her heel and practically hopping out of the room. Seras couldn't hold in her laughter.

"Mother, Caroline assured me that all the other ladies were wearing it!" Edith must have overheard and stood outside the water closet with the offending lip color in hand.

"Oh yes, and I'm certain Miss Caroline would then assure your suitors that she would never be so vulgar as to even think to apply such rubbish!" Mrs. Victoria's counterattack was strong, and after a few more feeble protests Edith relented and washed away the rouge. 

Seras watched the exchange with a smile, happy to be out of her mother's horse blinders for the first time in a long time. The thought was bittersweet, but Seras had accepted it. She was approaching the status of an old maid, after all, and if the Victoria family wanted to move up in London society – and by God their mother did – then one of the sisters would have to marry quite well. As respectable (and wealthy) members of the upper-middle class, their family was on the cusp of being accepted into the gentry. However, Seras was nineteen and unmarried. It was a death sentence in more than one place in upper society.

What irritated her mother most about the fact was that two years ago Seras had been avidly pursued by plenty of well-to-do suitors – and still was by those that hadn't already married. She had everything a man of the lower gentry or upper middle class could want: beauty, manners, a relatively known family name, a plump dowry, a respectable reputation.

But Seras was one of those unfortunate "romantics." She didn't want to marry for status or money. She'd found a majority of her suitors too unkind, too crude, or too unrefined to marry; or, that's at least what she told her father when her rejections came to light at the dinner table. While both Seras and her mother knew the real reason, they also knew that with each passing year any attention directed toward Seras would dwindle until it had been totally turned toward a younger, prettier debutante. Apparently men couldn't wait forever, but Seras was certain that love could.

Seras fingered the tarlatan of her long, pale blue dress. It brought out the fairness of her skin and the blue of her eyes, but she had to admit that it paled in comparison to Edith's ball gown. The gown had been tailored specially for her sister by one of the most sought after seamstresses in London and was where the bulk of earnings from their father's extra cases had gone. Edith had just turned seventeen the previous month and was considered ripe for the picking.

"Seras…" Edith asked playfully as they followed their mother down the polished mahogany staircase.

"Yes, Edith?" Seras giggled and shoved both their shawls and fans in her sister's arms. Edith huffed in melodramatic indignation before making a show of hurrying down the last flight to block Seras' way.

"Don't I look _marvelous_?" Edith drawled in the exaggerated, posh accent that she and Seras used to mock the patronizing men their father represented in court. Seras burst out laughing and ignored her mother's shush from the drawing room, pushing Edith out of the way before taking the time to really get a good look at her younger sister.

"Oh Edith… you're so beautiful!" Her sister's long, flowing white and red bustled muslin gown was centered by a fashionable yet acceptable neckline that was studded with hints of glimmering rubies and diamonds. Her glossy dark brown locks had literally been in ribbons for days to achieve the perfect curls, and her up-do was beyond perfection. Seras felt a tinge of envy, but quickly brushed it aside.

It was Edith's turn to shine, and Edith had no qualms when it came to courting men she had no real interest in.

"Thank you, Seras! And you look as gorgeous as usual!" Edith fingered the tarlatan of Seras' dress lightly before stepping away. "It's a wonder why you have yet to be married." She murmured wistfully, handing Seras her shawl as their mother and father entered the foyer. Seras couldn't help her frown.

Comments on her lack of a husband always upset her more than they should have, for she was certainly used to them by now. But it was true that she was approaching an age where there were fewer and fewer gentleman asking to sign her card*, and fewer a chance of her being able to marry for love. If their family was to climb the social ladder, they certainly couldn't have a spinster with the Victoria family name. It was a shame, a disgrace, and totally unacceptable. It was a subject that made Seras horribly uncomfortable, anxious, and guilty.

In this case, it seemed more logical to emphasize Seras' appearance, but attracting suitors was not her problem. It was the courtship that always led to an inevitable rejection on her part. Mrs. Victoria was of the opinion that Seras had certainly already had her chance to choose a "loving" husband, and needed to pick from what she had left. Edith was a flower ready to blossom, and everyone agreed that it should be a wealthy, respectable young man who picked her. It was Edith's turn to take center stage.

"Come, the night waits for no man!" Mrs. Victoria was a great fan of melodramatic romance novels, and unfortunately the dialogue had begun to rub off on her. Their small family had finally assembled themselves in the foyer.

Mr. Victoria, a tall man with a stern face and soft eyes, shook his head with a tolerant smile as he moved to take his greatcoat from the butler. Mr. Victoria was a retired detective turned high-rise attorney, and through his experience with law enforcement protocol was able to easily rid his clients of pesky lawsuits. Mr. Victoria never charged more than his fair share, much to his wife's discontent, and was in turn held in high regard by his clients. It helped that these clients were well-respected members of the landed gentry and aristocracy.

"Shall we?" Mr. Victoria asked, sweeping the long coat over his superfine waistcoat. Mrs. Victoria dutifully took his arm with a happy hum.

After she wrapped her thin silver shawl over her shoulders and gave Edith a well-deserved deck on the head, Seras followed her parents out of the entrance hall, down the front steps, and in to the awaiting carriage.

Seras had a vague sympathy for sardines during those carriage rides, but always enjoyed the conversation and the atmosphere of them. The carriage was reserved specifically for Mr. Victoria's work and special occasions. She couldn't help but feel a bit of a princess.

The trip to Woburn Abbey thankfully took no longer than two hours, a fact both Seras and Edith were thankful for when their mother began to remind them of their etiquette and dancing do's and don'ts. The topic was cut short when the party was five minutes away from the abbey and Mrs. Victoria discovered a distressingly misplaced stitch on Mr. Victoria's waistcoat.

"Seras, you shall never guess the secret Caroline shared with me at tea." Edith took advantage of the opportunity and giggled behind her fan. Seras rolled her eyes.

"I can only imagine what she could've possibly mislead you toward this time!" 

Caroline Binsworth was one of Edith's treasured gentle-born friends, a young lady who took Edith's friendship and in turn treasured Edith like a housemaid. However while Caroline was rather plain, Edith naturally attracted some of the most handsome young men in the room. Caroline was intelligent enough to use such a friend to her advantage.

"I beg your pardon! Caroline told me that the Duke invited a Wallachian prince, and he accepted the invitation!" Edith had a familiar look on her face. Seras could see where this was going. "I'm so excited to see him! Have you ever seen anyone from Eastern Europe? How romantic it must-"

"What do you mean by 'see?' If you're so enchanted, why merely settle with sight? Why don't you go as far as to," Seras paused for a dramatic effect and leaned in close, her blue eyes wide, " _introduce yourself_?"

"Seras!" Edith hissed, snapping her fan none-too-gently against her sister' wrist as Seras burst into laughter.

"Edith!" Mrs. Victoria snapped to attention at the sight of unladylike behavior. Apparently the seam situation had been resolved.

"Mother!" Edith whined as they approached the manicured grounds of the manor.

"I'll have none of that tonight, thank you very much! You girls were not raised to be girls, but ladies, and I'll take nothing less than such! There are a number of esteemed individuals who shall be in attendance tonight, and I expect both of you to make the most of such an opportunity." She cast a non-too-discreet glance at Edith. Seras wasn't sure whether to be insulted or relieved.

"Seras, after mass last Sunday Mr. Thornsbury specifically inquired if you would be attending this ball." Mrs. Victoria suddenly diverted the conversation back to Seras. One sister's shoulders relaxed and the other's tensed. Seras couldn't hide her frown at the blatant hint.

Mr. Thornsbury was one of her father's associates and represented another law firm on the other side of London. He had long been one of her most faithful suitors and never seemed to be off put by any cancelled plans or returned bouquets. It wasn't that he was particularly mean or ugly, or that he smelled or had killed someone. Mr. Thornsbury was, however, only ten years younger than her father and a good twenty five years her senior. He was only a little taller than her, quite a bit rounder, and his breath always smelled like peanuts.

"Mr. Thornsbury is a highly respected attorney. He does you a great honor - an honor to which I have yet to see you deserve." Mrs. Victoria growled as the carriage halted under the canopied entrance of the sterling white mansion. Before Seras had a chance to retort the door was opened and her father was stepping down to help her mother out.

Seras didn't resent Mr. Thornsbury. He was actually a very kind man with a good sense of humor, and despite their age difference they always managed to have some sort of interesting conversation. No, Seras disliked what Mr. Thornsbury represented: settling.

By marrying Mr. Thornsbury, Seras would be settling for a marriage without passion, without undying love. Oh yes, they always said that love would come later, but how could they really be sure. Seras also highly doubted that Mr. Thornsbury would approve of her aspirations. She'd have no choice but to give them up, and resign herself to hoping that she could one day publish something under a male pen name once her husband passed. She grimaced at the thought – how depressing.

"I will find this prince by the end of the night, Seras." Edith swore once the carriage had disappeared in to the night and they were following their parents into the mansion.

"How are you so sure he's even a prince?" Seras humored her as they and their mother split from their father to enter the marbled ladies' dressing room. While their family was fashionably late and were the only guests present in the chamber, the sweet fragrances of expensive perfumes and oils still lingered in the air.

"Oh Seras, don't you read the print? Wallachia is losing its standing and will soon be swallowed up by that kingdom next to it!"

"…you mean Moldavia?"

"Yes, yes, Moldavia. They're an absolute mess; the only ones who could ever afford to escape simply _have_ to be royalty." Edith sighed as the chambermaid whisked their shawls away into the cloak room. She and Seras left the dressing room for the long hall to wait for their father, as was proper. The ladies took a seat on a stiff Versailles settee outside the gentlemen's apartments.

"In that case, how do you know you won't end up meeting a king instead?" Seras asked quietly, afraid one of the passerby would hear. The ballroom, dining room, and refreshment room were all located at the very end of the hallway, and once the sisters had left the dressing room they had seen many more people.

"If I do, I'd say I'd like to be queen!" Edith retorted without even bothering to try to be inconspicuous. A few passing couples cast a curious glance in their direction, and Seras couldn't hold down her blush.

"Edith!" Seras scolded. Edith rolled her eyes and looked away, only to immediately stand and wave at someone down the hall.

"Oh, there's Caroline!" Edith sing-songed, picking up her skirts to shuffle toward the leader of a well-dressed group of young people. "Caroline, how good it is to see you…!" Her bubbly voice faded as she neared the group and was engulfed by it.

And just like that, Seras found herself sitting alone on the settee outside the gentlemen's apartments.

____________________________

The ball was quite a success.

The refreshments were deemed delicious, the music of the highest caliber, and the atmosphere as joyful as could possibly be. From what Seras could see, Edith was having the time of her life! Her card had been quickly filled with the names of up-and-coming young gentlemen and despite none being her mysterious Wallachian prince, her smile never faded and her eyes never lost their sparkle.

Seras grinned from where she sat next to her mother on the side of the ballroom, her gaze following her sister. Her younger sister's smile was so infectious, and she truly seemed to be enjoying herself! And it was well that she should be. She had the charm, grace, beauty, and personality to be the belle of the ball. Seras felt a pang of jealousy, but quickly brushed it aside. She was happy for her sister, and such trivial things like collecting suitors had never interested her.

Besides, it wasn't as if she had been sitting the entire night.

Seras had danced the first dance with none other than Mr. Thornsbury, and her father had claimed the second. She was lucky enough to have the third with her long lost childhood friend, Pip Bernadotte, and then with one of his "business associates."

No matter what Pip thought of her, Seras wasn't stupid. She knew that Pip had taken up several questionable occupations almost as soon as he had graduated from Oxford, although when she had accidentally learned of the fact she hadn't been much too surprised. Why else would a Frenchman spend so much time in England?

Aside from the fact, it had still been lovely to see him and Seras had missed him very much. But then his associate had needed him, and after giving her a sheepish smile he let himself be pulled away. So now she was sitting next to her mother, not quite sure what to do next. She was getting bored, but it didn't seem like she would have that luxury for long.

Seras had only just turned to admire the craftsmanship of one of the paintings on the wall behind her when she felt it. It wasn't so much a presence than a feeling, a subconscious sixth sense's goose bump-inducing warning of danger. She felt a shadow cast over her, and her shoulders involuntarily tensed under its dark caress. Her mouth went dry and she licked her lips, like wood over sandpaper.

It took so much to simply turn around. There was an absurd fear that suddenly struck her, and begged her to flee before it was too late. But that would've been rude, and this was an aristocrat's ball. There was nothing to fear here.

And standing before her was nothing to fear. If anything, it was something to giggle about on the carriage ride home. A tall, broad-shouldered man with glimmering lengths of black hair and lily white skin was bent at the waist with her mother's hand in his palm. Though he was impeccably dressed in a glossy superfine-dress coat, the impressive golden strings of rubies that surrounded his white necktie hinted at gaudiness. In fact there was something about this man, from the oversized ruby thumb ring on top of his white kid gloves to the onyx walking stick crowned with a gold wolf's head, that was ominous.

"It is a pleasure." His English was flavored with a foreign accent. Seras' eyes widened. Perhaps this was Edith's prince?

And then the floor manager* was standing in front of her, and she could feel her mother and the supposed prince's eyes on her.

"Miss Victoria, may I introduce the fifth Count Dracul of Wallachia?" The floor manager gestured to her, and then to the Count. Seras was struck dumb; for once, Edith had been right!

The Count dipped at the waist and extended his hand, peering up at her through long, glossy dark hair. Seras noticed that he hid his eyes behind a pair of darkened lenses. She thought it was rather odd for an evening ball, but perhaps he had a medical condition that prescribed for it. If not… well, he was foreign nobility, so such an offense could be easily brushed away. His status explained his less than modest embellishments as well.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Victoria." The Count said as the floor manager took his leave, satisfied that the exchange was perfectly polite. Seras shivered at the way the Count said her name but forced a shaky smile.

"It is a greater pleasure to meet you, My Lord." Seras replied, placing her hand lightly in his. His smile did not fade as he bent over it.

Instead of kissing the top of the back of her hand as custom dictated, he kissed the back of her wrist. Seras did not allow her smile to falter as he did so, but then – _did he just sniff her?_

No, the word "sniff" didn't do justice. Inhale better defined it. Seras only just resisted the urge to backhand him because he was a royal.

No one else had seemed to notice the nobleman's less than savory greeting. Her mother was in a different world full of fantastical royal weddings, and the people milling around them only spared a curious glance every once in a while.

But Seras knew, and the smile that marred his face when he finally looked up told her that he knew she knew.

What a creep.

"Mrs. Victoria," Count Dracul only let go of Seras' hand once he rose from his bow, much to her discomfort. But it wasn't as if Seras' mother had really cared to notice. "Might I ask your permission for the honor of your daughter's next dance?"

Seras felt a pang of pity for the Count now. Edith was engaged for all of the remaining dances and because she was off somewhere on the dance floor, he would have to be let down by her mother! What a dreadful way to be rejected, especially in a foreign land's court. But then this weirdo had just smelled her wrist, so she was kind of okay with throwing him at Edith. She'd wanted him in the first place anyway, not Seras.

Mrs. Victoria smiled brilliantly at the Count, and then at Seras. Seras felt something drop in the pit of her stomach. Oh no, he wasn't asking for _her_ , was he?

"You needn't have asked, My Lord." Perhaps there was still a slight chance that they were talking about Edith.

The dreadful man smiled his awful smile again. It was dark and deep, and only grew more terrible when he turned to face Seras. His gaze never left hers even as he dipped into a bow at the waist. She absolutely hated the fact that she couldn't see his eyes. His darkened lenses left too many things to the imagination, and hers was too active for her own good.

"May I have the pleasure of this dance, Miss Victoria?" His etiquette was better than some of the born and bred English in the room. With a graceful flick of the wrist he took hold of her hand once more, never mind that she hadn't accepted yet.

She would, and they both knew it.

"The pleasure is mine, My Lord." Seras forced another uneasy smile on her face and reluctantly allowed herself to be pulled toward the dance floor, leaving her swooning mother behind.

A slow, dreamy waltz had just begun, and Seras thought it suited her situation quite well. Regardless of how intimidating the Count was, he was certainly one of the most gorgeous men she'd ever seen. Michelangelo had to have used him as a muse. But despite the Count's overbearing beauty, there was still something sinister to him.

They floated across the dance floor to the beat of the music, and Seras inwardly thanked God that she was a talented dancer. The Count was graced in the art and elegantly led them around the floor, oftentimes catching the admiring eye of a neighboring couple. But when they were almost half way into the dance and had yet to speak a word to each other, Seras grew anxious.

That stupid smile had never left his face though, so she'd take it as a sign of amusement, and amusement was better than nothing. On that note Seras decided to take initiative. Any conversation would prove to be less awkward than this silence.

"If I may dare to ask," Seras began, trying not to flinch when she felt the full brunt of his attention, "what inspired My Lord to make my acquaintance?" She really was curious why he asked her, of all the ladies at the ball, to dance.

The Count laughed, and Seras tensed. His smile matched his laugh.

"That old Duke was bothered that I hadn't danced yet this evening." The Count pulled Seras quite a bit too close to be proper before whispering to her as if it were some grave secret. Seras violently tried to restrain her blush – their faces were almost touching!

"So he _recommended _that I dance with one of the wallflowers." She didn't miss the sardonic smile, and flushed with indignation. "Of course I was afraid that dancing with a wallflower would equate to dancing with someone…less than applicable."__

__With an offended snort she tried to pull away, but gasped when she felt the hand on the side of her waist tighten to the point of pain. She glared, and he only smiled in return. He loosened his grip only when she relented._ _

__"So he and I scoured the room for a partner. He pointed out you, the daughter of his most trusted attorney. And I must say, my dear," His lips were scandalously close to her ear, "you are quite applicable."_ _

__Seras' eyes widened. At that moment, with his strong hold on her hip, his cool breath on her cheek, the smooth darkness of his voice, how close they stood – it was all too much. She felt her knees shake slightly, and the Count tighten his hold to support her. When had he become so seductive? When had she unwittingly fallen under his spell?_ _

__Suddenly Seras had nothing to say, and they simply drifted through the waltz. His hold on her waist shifted, and the spell was broken. Her eyes widened and her nostrils flared. Who did this man think he was? Titled or not, she was a respectable lady and did not deserve such treatment! Did he want to destroy her reputation and her family's prospects?_ _

__"How _dare_ you!" She hissed, drawing her face closer to his. His smile never faltered. Her grip on his hand tightened, and to her irritation his did as well._ _

__"I am no questionable lady, sir, and I will not allow any mistreatment regardless of your status!" And what a breach of status it was. She should've stopped talking a long time ago, but something told her that this man wouldn't tattle on her; if anything he seemed to enjoy her spite._ _

__"I never questioned your reputation, Miss." His tone was oh so smug. "I merely stated that I found you an applicable dance partner." Seras wondered if the tips of her ears were red from anger or embarrassment._ _

__"It was the implication then!"_ _

__"And what, pray tell, did you imagine I implied?" Their faces were once again so scandalously close._ _

__Seras had a sudden heightened awareness of the strong, almost possessive grip of his hand on her lower back and the fact that her hand had been completely enveloped in his. She dared to glance around the room and much to her relief found that they had swayed to the edge of the floor, away from the crowd and out of the spotlight._ _

__Of course, that didn't mean that there wasn't a possibility of someone watching them._ _

__She pulled away, blushing like mad, and risked a glance at his face. Her breath caught in her throat._ _

__All traces of playfulness had been swallowed up by a fierce glare, and any softness in his features had hardened to steel. His glower was thankfully not directed toward her but something past her head. His grip seemed to unconsciously tighten. Seras felt him slowly pull her closer to his chest, as if getting ready to spirit her away at a moment's notice._ _

__…she really had to stop reading her mother's romance novels._ _

__"My Lord?" She didn't bother to hide the irritation and confusion in her tone. His eyes darted back to her, but he didn't lessen his hold in the slightest._ _

__"I thank you for the most wonderful dance, Miss Victoria." He was smiling that devious smile again, but his eyes were hard and cold._ _

__The song ended, and though he let go of her waist he kept a tight hold on her hand. He lead her like a lamb off the dance floor and weaved through throngs of diamond-strung ladies and clouds of expensive perfume til her mother and father came in to sight. But before Seras could approach them, the Count finally let go of her hand and quickly backpedalled to hover behind her._ _

__"I look forward to making your acquaintance in the very near future, Miss Victoria." His lips grazed the shell of her ear before she spun around, only to find that he had already disappeared into the large crowd behind her. Seras narrowed her eyes. How strange. He certainly was a fast walker._ _

__Seras took a deep breath and stood a little straighter as she walked to rejoin her parents. It was as if a cloud had lifted from over her head and she could finally breathe easy again._ _

__"Oh, here she is!" Her mother was waving her over almost as soon as she caught sight of Seras to a small group. Her mother and father seemed to be speaking with quite peculiar people._ _

__"Sir Hellsing, may I introduce you to my daughter, Seras Victoria?"_ _

__A tall, intimidating towhead woman (in a pantsuit, of all things!) regarded her with polite disinterest as she took a puff from an expensive cigar – a cigar that should've been confiscated by the floor manager, but hadn't been. She was obviously a noble, and a high-ranking one at that if she could wear and do whatever she wanted._ _

__"Seras, may I introduce Sir Hellsing?" Mr. Victoria introduced them with a calm attorney smile. Seras stared at the woman, a little dumbstruck, before leaping in to action._ _

__"I-it's an honor to meet you, Sir Hellsing!" And why a woman was being addressed as "sir" Seras didn't know, but knew better then to ask. The woman took another puff of her cigar before handing it to what looked like some sort of personal butler. To Seras' surprise, Sir Hellsing looked only a few years older than her._ _

__"Likewise. And this," Sir Hellsing replied briskly, gesturing toward the butler, "is my retainer, Walter." The older man smiled at Seras and gave a little bow. When it was clear that Sir Hellsing wasn't going to say anything else, he quickly stepped forward to gesture toward her father._ _

__"Your father recently defended our organization against fraudulent suits. He's a very talented man." Walter said, effectively explaining what Seras needed to know so Sir Hellsing wouldn't have to._ _

__"You're too kind, sir." Mr. Victoria gave a good-natured chuckle. There was a slight lapse in the conversation._ _

__"Your mother mentioned you met the Count?" Sir Hellsing asked, suddenly focusing her total attention on Seras. Seras felt like she was under a microscope; the aristocrat seemed to be searching her for something, but kept on coming up with a blank._ _

__"Yes, I had the last dance with him." Seras replied, not sure what Sir Hellsing was leading up to. Usually when ladies asked each other these types of questions they were attempting to establish who they'd have to be competing against for a man's affections, but Seras highly doubted Sir Integra was interested in such things._ _

__"Did you happen to see which direction he took afterward?" Seras felt like she was being interrogated. What did this noble want with the Count, anyway? From the looks she and Walter were giving her, you would think that the Count had killed someone! Creep or not, Seras would feel bad for him if she set these two on his tail._ _

__"No, I'm afraid I didn't." Seras answered, fighting to keep Sir Hellsing's stare. The aristocrat's eyes were icy blue behind clear glasses that only magnified their depths. It made Seras feel like Sir Hellsing could see right through her lie. Oh god, she hoped not. She never wanted to get on the bad side of anyone like Sir Hellsing._ _

__The woman exchanged a glance with her retainer before nodding._ _

__"No matter." She said evenly, though even Seras could plainly see that it did matter. The noble took another puff of her cigar before resting it in Walter's waiting hand._ _

__"It was pleasure seeing you again, Mr. Victoria, Mrs. Victoria. I'll have Walter call on your office should we have use of your services again." Sir Hellsing addressed them curtly with a stiff smile. She turned back to Seras once again. "And it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss Victoria."_ _

__Seras curtsied. "The pleasure was mine, Sir Hellsing." Seras wasn't sure if she would take offense to "m'lady."_ _

__"Thank you Sir Hellsing, Mr. Dornez. I do hope you enjoy the rest of the ball." Mr. Victoria said as he shook Sir Hellsing's and then Walter's hand, handling the goodbyes for the ladies of his family as they curtsied._ _

__"I wish you the same." Sir Hellsing replied before she and Walter disappeared into the crowd, much like the Count had done not so long ago._ _

__Unlike the Count, Seras was able to watch them go._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> notitiam: notice


	2. abbito

Seras decided to take to her bedroom for the remainder of the morning.

The family had arrived home from the Duke's ball in the wee hours of the morning. Under such circumstances they all took the liberty of sleeping in well past nine-thirty, the time of morning that - according to Mrs. Victoria - all successful people should be up and about by.

By that logic, Edith's suitors must have been very successful people indeed. When the family passed the foyer for the dining room for a late breakfast, it was found that no less than five bouquets had already been delivered by nine o'clock in the morning. Four more were dropped off within the hour.

To put it lightly, Mrs. Victoria had practically cried when she saw the family names of the boys who signed the cards. Seras hadn't really minded that; there was a smug enjoyment that came with watching your younger sibling go through the same tortures you did. And poor Edith, who hadn't even gotten to see her bouquets, let alone breakfast yet, was shrieked at by their mother to write "heartfelt" thank you notes to each gentleman _"right this minute!"_

Seras had been well in to an especially delicious country breakfast with her parents when one of the house maids, Nora, entered the floral-wallpapered dining room. 

__

__

"Something for Miss Seras, ma'am." How strange. Usually their meal times weren't allowed to be disrupted with deliveries. The middle-aged lady was cradling something small and delicate, wrapped in white silk and fastened by an opulent mother-of-pearl brooch. Her father raised an eyebrow at the gift's ostentatiousness.

Seras' eyes widened when the maid handed her the bundle. The brooch was absolutely exquisite and unquestionably worth more than any other piece of jewelry she owned. The craftsmanship was superb and had been undoubtedly labored over by some dedicated artisan in a far away land. The breakfast table was silent as she gently unclasped the brooch from the silk and unveiled what lay beneath.

The discovery was surprisingly anticlimactic. In the package lay a single trimmed red rose at the peak of bloom, its glossy red petals softer than the silk it was presented in. Seras couldn't help but smile and blush all the same.

"Is there a note or a name?" Mr. Victoria was deceptively calm as he eyed the pearl brooch with skepticism. Judging from the soft hue and lack of shine, it was real, and probably worth as much as their family's carriage.

"No, none that I can see…" Seras gently lifted the flower from its folds, delicately tracing her fingers over the petals. She couldn't help it; she was touched by the gesture. It was so romantic, Shakespearian. She smiled to herself and lifted it to her nose.

Just as she was about to give it to the maid to put in water, a certain sparkle from inside the rose caught her eye. Her parents watched in searching silence as she dipped her fingers into the petals and pulled out a shining ruby crystal hanging on a sterling silver chain. There was a pregnant pause before-

" _Is that a necklace?_ "

"Seras, **is there a name?** "

After further investigation and interrogation of the servant who had answered the door it was found that no note had been sent with the gift, but that a well-dressed stranger with an accent and peculiar walking stick had delivered it. Seras' throat dried when she heard as much.

At that point Mrs. Victoria hadn't known what to do: gloat, swoon, cry, die? Mr. Victoria simply returned to his breakfast with the thoughtful, solemn expression only a father can possess. When she found out after she finished her thank you notes, Edith had demanded to see the necklace and then squealed in excitement. And Seras?

She wasn't quite sure what to think.

For one thing, there was always a possibility that it hadn't been Count Dracul. Many Englishmen hired foreigners as domestic servants, so a stranger with an accent didn't do much to narrow the field. But then how many domestic servants had Eastern European accents and expensive walking sticks…? Seras groaned. Plenty! There had to be plenty!

And it wasn't as if he had especially enjoyed her company last night, right? From _sniffing her_ to making close to inappropriate comments and then not even bothering to escort her back to her family, he hadn't given her the proper civilities a lady deserved. He obviously hadn't been too concerned with making a good impression on her. However he was a foreigner, so perhaps it was just a cultural difference?

Yes, because smelling your partner before your dance was so internationally acceptable…

Seras sighed. She didn't know what to think about the whole ordeal. Yes, he could've possibly scandalized her, but to her confusion a part of her really wouldn't have minded. Though she'd never admit it, a part of her wished he had. It was exciting. He was exciting...

Seras blushed and buried her flushed face in her hands. If she continued to think of him in such a way she'd die of embarrassment the next time they met! And Seras presumed that they would be meeting again very soon. If the Count had really taken the time to hand-deliver her flower then he was certainly interested in at least seeing her again despite the awful impression he made on her the night before.

And if she dared allow her imagination to wander, she supposed that he was interested in a little bit more, too.

Seras sat up from her bed, glancing at the opulent necklace resting on top of her jewelry box. It looked out of place on top of the simple, varnished wood box. She sighed and crossed the room to lay the crystal between her fingers. Even if the Count was strange, she'd still appreciated the thought... and his good taste in jewelry. She slipped the necklace on and turned to her mirror, smiling at the glimmer of the crystal in sunlight.

Seras cringed when she heard a rather loud argument from downstairs, followed by footsteps pounding up and down the hall. In one morning the Victoria household had gone from serene to overzealous. She knew her father had retired to his study not too long ago to attend to some business matters from the firm, so Seras could only assume the argument had been between her mother and Edith. She thought she heard the word "rouge" yelled once or twice.

Nevertheless, Seras decided that she had mulled over this morning's events long enough. She had several things to do, and not enough time to finish them. With her cotton sunbonnet in hand, Seras stuck her head out her bedroom door and made to close it, turning around only when she heard a light pair of feet pitter-patter by.

"Oh, Elizabeth!" Seras called. Elizabeth was Seras' favorite servant. Blessed with a wicked sense of humor and the ability to hold her tongue when it came to the sisters' misadventures, at the age of thirty-five, Elizabeth had earned her slot in the Victoria household.

"Yes, Miss Seras?" Of course they were still separated by rank, and their friendship would never progress outside of witty conversation and polite smiles. It was simply not allowed.

"Would you be so kind as to arrange a carriage to the library?" It was a Sunday, her father had nowhere to be, and she wanted to go to the library of all places. In this case, he would look the other way.

"Of course, Miss. I will alert the driver."

"Thank you." She tied the silky ribbons of her bonnet into a neat bow. Seras had just made her way to the staircase when Edith stepped out of her bedroom, curls set and elegant pastel green bonnet tied no less.

"Oh, where are you off to?" Edith asked, eyeing Seras' bonnet and bustled gossamer gown. Aside from the Count's necklace, it was a rather plain outfit.

Edith reached out and tugged on the crystal playfully. "Going out to steal my prince away, are you?"

Seras scoffed as she teasingly pushed Edith out of the way. "I think not!" Edith followed on her heels down the mahogany staircase.

"Well, if not to track down your royal suitor," Seras rolled her eyes as she pulled on her gloves, "to where are you off?"

"I'm to spend the afternoon at the library."

"Again with those dusty books?" Edith clucked her tongue and shook her head, leftover curls from the night before falling into her face. Her smile wasn't very friendly. "If you're so interested in reading, why not join the Ladies' Book Club? Honestly Seras, I would've thought you'd given up on that silly dream by now." Seras stopped midway down the staircase and turned to stare at her sister, taken aback. Such criticism was unexpected from Edith, of all people.

The former atmosphere was shattered and replaced by a cooler, tenser one. All was silent in the reception hall except for the steady counting of the grandfather clock.

"I apologize, Seras." Edith finally said, diverting her gaze from her sister. But she didn't retract her statement.

"You're forgiven." Edith was still her sister. In her heart, Seras knew that she hadn't meant anything by it. She wanted to, anyway. They reached the bottom of the staircase.

There was another pause before:

"So, to the library then?"

"Yes."

Edith shuffled her feet before finally looking at Seras again. "Well, mother forgot to bring some flowers to Father the other day at mass, so she gifted me with the exciting task. Perhaps after I deliver them, I could join you?" It was Edith's way of reconciling. Seras, though still a bit stung, nodded. She had to learn not to be so sensitive.

"Yes, I'd like that." She said as she stepped out of the front door, closing it firmly behind her.

Regardless of the opinions Edith or anyone else held, Seras had work to do.

Edith's shoulders sagged once Seras closed the front door. She should've been more sensitive to her sister's feelings – it was a touchy subject, after all. Seras was so distressed by the topic about it after their mother had taken up discouraging her from it as a personal hobby.

Discourage was, of course, a euphemism for the barrage of insults, insinuations, and accusations Seras was made to suffer through all those years. Now that Edith was the newest and prettiest lady-of-age in the family, their mother had focused her attention less on Seras. Edith realized in that moment there was finally a small opening for her to pursue it again, albeit quietly, and wanted to smack her head against the wall. What a blow it must have been to be discouraged by your own sister! How terrible it must have felt! But in her defense, it wasn't Edith's fault that Seras aspired to be a policewoman, of all things.

When Seras had announced her apparent dream at the tender age of fourteen, Edith remembered Mr. Victoria only smiling and giving her his blessing in "whichever path she chose to pursue." She remembered their mother's strained laugh and declaration of how silly young ladies' imaginations could be. Only it wasn't her imagination, and Seras' determination only grew stronger as she did.

Edith should've been happy that Seras was finally pursuing her dream once again. It meant that her sister had finally found herself again. And it also meant that Edith might've well spit in her sister's face when she practically said that nothing would come of it.

Edith sighed as she slid her own gloves on.

Well… it was sad, but she was right. Nothing would be coming of it. A female detective? Who had ever heard of such nonsense? Besides, it was time that Seras learned to face to reality and put such petty things behind her; she hadn't found a husband in two seasons, and if she didn't find one this season she would be deemed a failure. There was no bigger disgrace for a lady, and their family could not afford anything of the sort.

However, it seemed that Seras had found something with that Wallachian noble, of all people. Come to think of it, hadn't she been wearing the crystal he supposedly gave to her?

Edith gathered the flowers to her bosom with a sharp frown, forgetting to thank Nora for holding the door open for her as she left the household. Edith herself had disregarded the necklace until after the fact, so hopefully it wasn't too noticeable. During the Season it was not in good taste to wear jewelry before evening time, yet Seras just had to flaunt that nobleman's necklace around. With how much time they'd spent at the ball together last night and the known financial status of their family, everyone would be able to guess that it was a gift from the nobleman. 

Edith wanted to hit her head against the wall _again_. Oh, what was Seras thinking to wear a piece of jewelry that was just given by a potential suitor! It was too forward! Edith was past the envy that had sprung with the news that her sister had been the only lady at the ball that her mysterious prince had danced with. It wouldn't even matter if Seras had managed to grab the Count as a suitor, because at this rate she was going to shame herself and their family if she disregarded any more social graces!

Edith couldn't stop grumbling to herself all the two blocks to the church. Stupid Seras, running around and tarnishing their reputations. Their family was already Catholic! That was already one strike against them, they didn't need any more!

**\- - - - - - - -**

St. Peter the Apostle Church wasn't beloved to most of London, but as a Catholic church no one should have expected it to be. The fact that it incorporated gothic French architecture to its exterior and an Irish priest to its interior didn't help matters either, but for whatever reason the parish was usually left alone, even when the occasional anti-Catholic riot sprang up.

The church seemed to be empty at first glance, which didn't bother Edith in the slightest. The faster she could get to Seras to apologize and take off the necklace, the better. But then after a second look, Edith spotted her priest in one of the front most pews engaged in a very lively conversation with a very strange woman. It seemed like they were having a very heated discussion. Edith debated on waiting for them to finish, but it seemed like that wouldn't be anytime soon. As she drew closer, their words became more clear:

"-don't believe in coincidences, especially when he's involved."

"Ye heathens have always been so quick to judge and today 'tis no exception! Have ye even any evidence before ye gather torches?"

"Numbers don't lie, and autopsies never do. Facts are facts whether you choose to admit them or not, Judas Priest." Edith blinked at the insult. How rude, especially in a church of all places.

It didn't quite seem the type of conversation a member of the clergy should be engaging in. And she couldn't remember having seen dear Father Anderson become so aggressive and – not to mention – frightening. Edith began to feel extremely uncomfortable. This conversation was most definitely not meant for her ears, and she really wished that they would notice her already. She stood a few pews back and tried to clear her throat as lady-like as possible, but to no avail.

"Ye still don't know for certain whether the man is the cause! Ye cannot damn a man because ye want to!"

"Oh, for Christ'ssake!" The tall towheaded woman that Father Anderson was arguing with suddenly leapt from her seat. "When a damn Count of Wallachia named Vlad, of all things, comes to London and we see such a rise in numbers what other logical reason is there? He's back, damn you!"

Edith couldn't hold back her gasp. They were talking about the Count! Had he committed a crime? Had he hurt someone? What were they talking about?

Father Anderson jumped from his seat as well. "Never use such obscenities in the place of God, ye filthy Protestant whore!" He literally bellowed as he raised his fist. Edith's breath caught in her throat. Things were quickly veering off in the wrong direction, and she was not about to give witness to her priest striking a woman!

"Father Anderson!" Edith squeaked, holding the flowers out in front of her in a meager attempt to create a barrier. Both people, including the startling woman in the pantsuit, jumped to face her. She cringed as she felt the remnants of their anger misdirected toward her.

However, at the realization that it was just one of his faithful parishioners, Father Anderson quickly dropped his hand and exited the finely carved pew to stand in the aisle in front of Edith.

"Ah Miss Victoria, I apologize for the display… must learn to keep my temper." He coughed, clasping his hands together. Edith couldn't help but notice how tightly he held them together. His knuckles were turning white. "What do I owe the pleasure?"

Edith locked her elbows and managed to hold the flowers out a bit further. "My mother apologizes for failing to deliver during last Thursday's Feast of the Ascension." She said, trying to hide the quaver from her voice. The other woman regarded her with cold, analytical eyes.

Father Anderson nodded. "O'course, I thank ye." The flowers exchanged hands, and then they were standing there in silence.

"Well, I… shall see you at mass, Father." Edith said with a forced, anxious smile and a small curtsy. She turned and curtsied to the woman as well, because God only knew what she would do if Edith snubbed her. It was when Edith had turned, gotten halfway down the aisle, and was close enough to the door to believe she was free that the woman finally addressed her.

"Miss Victoria," The woman's voice was powerful and echoed in the church. Edith stopped. "Do you happen to have any relation to a Miss Seras Victoria?" Edith stiffened. How did this woman know her sister? It was clear that their previous conversation had undoubtedly been about the Count.

"Yes, she is my sister." Edith turned to face her, but didn't cross the gap between them. The woman took care of that for her. Her footsteps were heavy and masculine.

"And what is her relation to the Count?" The woman stood facing her with a fierce frown and harsh body language. Edith fidgeted.

"She-she… nothing's been made official, but he sent her jewelry this morning…" Edith said warily. The woman's eyes widened, displaying a short lapse in façade. Perhaps she shouldn't have said that.

"But…" The woman murmured to herself, lost in thought. Edith stared at her. Father Anderson suddenly appeared behind the woman, flowers still in hand.

"This is Sir Integra Fairbrooks Wingate Hellsing, Miss Victoria. She's a Protestant." He chewed on the word "protestant" like it was rubber. His expression was lost somewhere between a smile and a grimace.

"It's nice to meet you, My Lady."

"You may address me as Sir." Edith blinked and nodded. 

"Miss Victoria, it would do your sister well to be on her guard and reject the Count's advances for her own safety. We expect him to be involved with numerous unseemly activities."

Edith was silent.

"And I would also advise her not to allow him knowledge of her newfound enlightenment. Do not put your trust in him." Integra's voice was unwavering, totally convinced of her opinion. Edith was afraid to ask why. "And if you should find yourself in any particular situations with him that may need to involve… a third party, you may find access to myself and my organization at this address." Sir Hellsing had pulled a pencil out of one of her trouser pockets and grabbed a hymnal out of one of the pews. With blatant disregard, Sir Hellsing quickly tore the forward out of it, and Edith didn't miss that faint smirk that appeared when a flicker – ahem, tremor - of irritation spread across Father Anderson's face.

"'tis not to scare you. 'tis better to be safe than sorry." Father Anderson cut in, effectively ruining the dramatic silence that had dominated after Sir Hellsing's speech and spectacle.

Sir Hellsing elegantly sneered (Edith hadn't known such was possible) in response. The tension was practically crackling between them, and Edith decided that it was probably a good time to take her leave. So she took a step back, quickly said her goodbyes, and hustled out of the church only to hear their argument return full-throttle as she opened the ornate church doors.

"Do you dare still doubt me, you blasphemous-"

Edith was only too thankful to have torn herself from the conversation when she had.

But Edith couldn't decide whether to forget what had happened, or to commit it to memory. She wasn't yet sure which action would come back to bite her.

She hurried down the long stone staircase, feeling the gargoyles' stare on her back and Sir Hellsing's note weighing heavy in her hand.

**\- - - - - - - -**

The library seemed to have gotten dustier in her absence. 

Seras waved to the friendly librarian as she padded across the oiled wood floors, heading straight toward her favorite old reading nook in the left back corner. Her eyes lit up when she saw the practical lacquered table with its cracked reading lamp peeking from behind a tall bookcase and a wooden cart of uncategorized literature.

Since the beginning of the Season this year Seras had had virtually no leisure time, and no time for library excursions. Mornings were usually spent riding down Rotten Row* with Edith and her too-well-off friends, afternoons were put aside for calling on friends and important acquaintances, and after dinner hours were of course reserved for the few ton events the Victorias were invited to. There had been an increase of invitations ever since Edith's debut at Court and the family had been busy ever since. It hadn't exactly been much of a surprise, but you were supposed to act like it was.

Seras took several minutes to comb over the dusty aisles for the books she had last been working over before settling down at her table, turning on the cracked reading lamp with a cheerful click. She was going to apply to the Metropolitan Police and she was going to pass their exam with flying colors if it was the last thing she did. She would have to pass with a near perfect score if the Academy was going to even remotely take her seriously as a candidate. Now, if only Alexander Bain had worded his text without creating a new term ever other line…

It was back.

Her body sensed it before her mind. Suddenly her pulse had picked up, she was sitting ramrod straight, and could not move. Perhaps if she stayed still, her body reasoned, then perhaps it would go away. Perhaps it would forget and move on. But her mind knew better. Her mind understood that the game had only just begun.

Slowly, Seras turned in her chair and looked up, her face caressed by shadow.

"What a surprise, Miss Victoria." The Count had arrived, and he sounded everything but surprised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> abbito: to approach


	3. revelabis

It took Seras a moment to process that the one person she'd been mulling the morning over was literally looming over her. He stood so close to the back of her chair that she actually had to crane her head back to catch a glimpse of his face, darkly tinted eyeglasses and all. A faint hint of musky pine and something else drifted off of him. She couldn't place it but it was so familiar… it was on the tip of her tongue…

He gently laid his hand on her shoulder and came to her right side, glancing over the textbooks with amused interest. Once again, they were too close.

"This isn't the average reading material for a lady, Miss Victoria." He said as he casually thumbed through her copy of _An Analysis of a Criminal Philosophy_. Seras couldn't help but be irritated that he had lost her page before looking up at him.

Seras couldn't help but be dumbstruck in surprise at the lack of formal greetings. He was supposed royalty, and he was walking around old libraries unannounced and disregarding formalities? She hadn't even risen at his arrival, let alone address him!

Seras practically tumbled out of her chair and took a few – many – steps back from the table and the Count, who still had his hand in her book and his eyes on her.

Oh lord, they were so alone.

By being so generous as to give her jewelry, although rather forward, he had made his intentions quite clear. Seras' eyes narrowed for a moment. She had already told him once that she was a respectable lady that would not allow herself to be trifled with, yet here she was foolishly wearing his gift. Perhaps it would be best to politely address the Count and then take herself out of what could become a rather scandalous situation.

"Good Morning, My Lord." Seras curtsied demurely, making sure to keep her eyes on the floor. Her family couldn't afford a scandal, not while Edith had yet to be married.

"Morning? It's half past one in the afternoon." The Count drawled as he slowly stretched in to Seras' discarded chair. He liked to take his time, Seras noticed, and blushed when he looked her way again.

She could feel his eyes on her, absorbing her every move. It wasn't fair that he had the advantage of hiding his eyes, such an incriminating component of body language, and she didn't. She was certain he could read her like an open book. She was certain he knew she was attracted to him – she was wearing his necklace, after all.

She held her hands at her waist but didn't avert her eyes. She had always been told that forward men like him were not gentlemen; men like him were dangerous. She had to be assertive in this situation. After all, if she couldn't get a spoiled noble like him off her back, how did she ever expect to reprimand criminals? The question gave her strength, made her remember her determination and let her find her voice.

"I've seemed to have lost track of time." Seras was happy to find her voice so steady. "If it is truly so late, then I must beg leave, My Lord, to see that I pay my respects this afternoon." Yes, very good. Now all she had to do was thank him and she'd be on her way.

"And with whom are you to visit?" The Count spoke suddenly, his smile turned cruel and mocking. "Soft-spoken harpies whom you despise but are obligated not to? Women who barely have the capacity to think of things beside dresses and balls, men and jewelry?"

Seras was quiet, because yes, that was what she had been planning to do. It was what she was expected to do. It was her duty, and it was what she had been doing during the Season for the past two years. It had gotten her this far, though not that she particularly enjoyed it. In fact, Seras hated it, but she couldn't let him know that. She had to be leaving, anyway.

The Count sat quietly with chin in hand, watching her with a certain spark in his eye. Her mouth went dry, and although she wanted nothing more than to get away, she also couldn't bear to leave their conversation on such a note. She couldn't bear him thinking her weak, like all the other society girls.

"I never said I enjoyed it." Seras' voice was quiet but unwavering. The Count sat up, a sort of smile that she couldn't identify on his face.

"No indeed, and yet we both know that this afternoon, that is where you shall be. Just like all afternoons past." She hated the way he said it. It made her feel ashamed of the monotonous, passive life she had lead so far.

"And what choice do I have in the matter, my Lord?" Seras took a step forward, her voice lightly laced with a certain degree of defiance. "To defy social customs is to invite excommunication, which opens a door to a new townhouse among the laborers." She was at the opposite side the table now and pulled back a chair in one swipe, much to the Count's amusement. Seras flopped down into the creaky old seat and reached across to grab her text out of the Count's grasp. He only smiled. All he ever did was smile that awful smile.

"I do not believe the laboring poor can afford townhomes." He was teasing her again. This time she didn't hesitate to outright glare at him.

"And how would you ever suspect to know? You're a Count, a prince. I doubt you've dealt with any situation worse than having to call for a forgotten fireplace to be lit." And from the sudden deep, terrifying frown that appeared on the Count's face, Seras guessed that she had finally fallen out of favor.

"One should not speak of things one knows little of." His voice was cold enough to cause the temperature to plummet a few degrees. Seras physically shivered – and had it suddenly gotten darker? The shadows from the bookshelves seemed longer than they had been a moment ago, and never had that unlit fireplace looked so foreboding. The cracked little old lamp flickered. Yes, Seras had officially fallen from grace, and it was time to make her escape. She slowly closed her textbook.

"So Miss Victoria, please do me the favor of explaining your interest in such material." He asked as soon as she had closed her book and made to get up.

Seras stared at him for a long moment. The Count had reverted right back to normal as if nothing had ever happened. Seras wasn't certain whether to be relieved or unsettled.

"Its purpose serves to prepare for the written exam for the Metropolitan Police Force." Seras finally spoke with a little piece of quiet pride. Usually she would never dare tell anyone such a thing, as she knew almost no one would accept her for it. Her mother had abused her for it, and her sister had laughed at the very idea. However, the Count was so strange, perhaps he would hold a different opinion.

It was very probable that he wouldn't, but Seras was getting a little desperate for some sort of encouragement. It was hard trying to achieve your dreams when you were constantly being berated for them.

The Count was quiet for a long moment. And then he laughed.

The Count laughed so hard that a bit of color appeared over his pallid complexion, and he had to grip the side of his stomach. He leaned forward in his chair and swung his walking stick over his lap, finally finishing the outburst with a slow series of chuckles. He looked up at her, his eyes still hidden by those damn eyeglasses. Seras was so affronted that she was speechless.

"Laugh all you want." She snipped tersely once she had regained her composure. She refused to acknowledge the tears beginning to sting her eyes. "One day my name will be listed on the registrar." It would be. She see to make it so.

The Count regarded her with another bemused smile. "You are a surprising lady, Miss Victoria… although, I doubt one who is a police girl can be deemed a lady."

"I can be both, Count." Seras tried to sound stern as she flipped back open to her page and picked up from where she left off. Like hell she was leaving now. She had work to do, and she wasn't going to be scared away by some spoiled noble who disregarded her so casually! He could be the one to leave! So she went back in to the text, trying her best to ignore his existence.

She had just gotten through three long, drawn-out pages when he chose to speak again.

"No, Miss Victoria, you cannot." Her head snapped up from the book in surprise. This time was no teasing smirk, no playful ire to his smile. His lips were tilted in to a solemn frown and his hands were folded on the table as if they were in the midst of discussing some battle strategy or coup d'état.

"Excuse me?" She just couldn't really get over the fact that he rebuked her statement from ten minutes ago.

"One cannot be a respectable lady and a police woman, Miss Victoria, unless the position of inspector prescribes for baking, sewing, drawing, reading, and other womanly affairs. Such a life deals with the underbelly of rotten society – it will chew you up, spit you out, and let you rot in your cynicism and broken ideals." He leaned a little further over the table, and Seras unconsciously mimicked his movements.

"A true 'lady' could never survive in such an environment, and it would be morally apprehensible to subject her to it." He was finished speaking but Seras felt as if he still had more to say; or, perhaps she just wanted to hear him say more.

Seras avoided his gaze for a moment before realizing just how stupid she was acting. Here she was, determinedly studying for her exam, only to be put out by some man she just met? He wasn't even from England! Count or no count, what did he know? Seras met his gaze once again.

He knew nothing!

"Those who are not willing to sacrifice everything will never change anything. And if I don't do something to introduce a change for tomorrow, who will?" Seras flipped the page of her book, her eyes darting back and forth from his gaze to the text. She still had work to do.

"So then you're willing to become a martyr, Miss Victoria?" He smirked, but Seras could tell it was an attempt to cover something else up. "How noble of you, how idealistic. How interesting…" He murmured. She jolted up when she heard the shriek of his chair pushed back, and her heartbeat increased as he started to walk toward her side of the table. He now had her full attention.

"But do you really think they'll let a woman, a woman like you, on the force? Someone so soft and blonde, so innocent and sweet… it would be a crime, they'd say, to put you in harm's way." He was taking his precious time and was only half way around the table.

"And it wouldn't matter if you scored highest on the written and physical exams, my dear Police Girl, because they'd say a man would naturally be better adept than a woman anyway. A woman would faint at the sight of blood, and a woman would be too afraid to confront criminals and convicts. A woman could never handle such a life, Police Girl." He was next to her now, though not as close as before, and her body responded with the same fight-or-flight reaction like it had back then.

She chose to fight.

"Then… I'll make them change! I will not allow them to define me! I will not allow them to decide my life!" She stood. The Count leaned on the table, observing her with that same searching smile.

"Change is not always within your power, Police Girl. There are some things in this world that are meant to be decided for us." The way he said it sent shivers down her spine. It was some sort of heavily veiled and disguised threat, but about what she couldn't imagine. But what she did know was that it was a good time to leave when threats were being handed out.

She began to stack the textbooks and he stood from the table, making his way to the fireplace to start a fire. Her gaze couldn't help but follow his elegant, masculine form as it slid across the room, allowing an ample display of his lower half when he-

"Seras dear!"

Seras was snapped out of her embarrassing daydream at the sound of Edith's voice. If she didn't know better, Seras swore she heard something like a hiss or a sigh coming from the direction of the Count. But that was silly – the count was supposedly a gentleman, after all.

"Oh, Edith!" Seras stood abruptly to greet her sister with a flustered smile. And then she realized just how much trouble she was in by the flabbergasted look on her sister's face.

Edith's eyes darted from Seras to the Count, who was still slinking around by the new fire, and then back to Seras. There were a lot of questions that demanded immediate answers, but weren't meant to be voiced outside the safety of their childhood bedrooms. For the present they simply had to pretend like nothing was the matter, even though Seras could read Edith's disapproval like an open book.

And it wasn't as if it was wrong of her to disapprove. Had anyone else caught sight of her and the Count alone in a private, hidden away corner of the library… well, the rumors certainly wouldn't have done wonders for either of their reputations.

The room was awkwardly quiet. The Count was still by the fireplace, leaning against the wall like he owned the place. And perhaps, Seras mused, he did. You never really knew what went on among all those "foreign investments." He seemed to be watching their exchange, but one could never be totally certain because of those eyeglasses, and for once he wasn't smiling. He was scarily impassive.

Seras coughed lightly, gaining Edith and the Count's attention, and smiled sheepishly.

"I hope you'll both forgive me, for I fear I can be a tad slow at times." She tried to laugh lightly, tried to pretend like there suddenly wasn't such an awful, tense atmosphere between the three of them.

"Miss Edith Victoria, may I introduce you to Count Dracul of Wallachia?" Seras took her sister's hand and led her to where the Count was situated. She noticed with a tad of dismay that he didn't extend his hand right away. Seras didn't appreciate the thought of him trying to snub her sister, but quickly pushed it to the back of her mind. She was probably exaggerating.

"My Lord, may I introduce you to Miss Edith Victoria?" Seras chirped, breathing a sigh of relief when he took her sister's hand and bent over to kiss the top of it (without, Seras noticed, smelling her wrist.)

But then when he straightened his expression was stony, listless at best. He offered Edith no witty banter to exchange, no polite small talk. Seras shifted uncomfortably.

"It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Count Dracul." And there was something off about Edith as well. Last night she had practically arranged a manhunt to find the very man in front of her but now seemed rather uncertain, standoffish even.

The Count merely nodded in response, taking a few steps back to stand next to Seras again. If Edith was offended by the Count's less than exuberant response, she didn't show it.

She held back a shiver when their arms brushed – god, she wasn't some schoolgirl. She should not be so affected by a man. He was just a man, after all. There were plenty enough of them out there. 

Seras bit her lip as silence once again reigned free. Was she expected to make conversation now?

"Unfortunately My Lord, I must beg our leave of you. We are expected home shortly." Seras blinked. She hadn't even gotten through a chapter in one of her texts, and Seras knew that at least she wasn't due back until well into the afternoon. Was the carriage even here yet?

"Edith," Seras started. She really needed to get some reading done, and she couldn't very well take the texts home for fear of her mother discovering them. 

"Our greatest of apologies, My Lord." Edith said with another deep curtsey, although Seras could tell she really wasn't sorry. But why? Why so eager to get away from- Seras bit back a hiss when Edith grabbed her hand with a harsh pinch as she tried to pull her away.

Oh, right. Potential scandal caused by being alone with an influential, much older and probably much more experienced suitor.

"You cannot leave now." Seras watched Edith stiffen at the Count's blatant command. Slowly, both sisters turned to a less than happy nobleman.

"I beg-"

"The storm has just begun, and what of your carriage? Are you truly certain of it being right outside for your disposal? Your father is a busy man who cannot afford to have his daughters running about the town."

"I believe it to be waiting outside, or at least close to arriving, My Lord." Edith responded with what Seras could tell was a forced smile. Seras pulled her hand of her sister's.

The Count raised a brow without a smile, and knocked his wolf-headed walking stick on the floor with an air of finality. "Well then, shall we assure you ladies do not ruin your hems in the rain and see if Miss Edith is correct?" He remarked snidely as he glided by the two and disappeared around one of the tall bookcases.

The sisters watched the space for a moment in stunned silence before following after, one curious and one reluctant. They chose to ignore the comment about their hems – he was, after all, a noble. Seras yipped when Edith grabbed her wrist from behind, forcefully pulling her back to walk at her side.

"Seras, just what have you been doing?" Edith hissed into her ear, her voice more frantic and fearful than Seras had expected it to be. She had thought Edith would've been angry as opposed to afraid.

Seras eyed Edith with uncertainty. "I was studying, sister. That's all." Edith gave her an unnerving stare.

"And he?"

"He… joined me after I settled in."

 _"Seras!"_ Edith all but shrieked. 

"Edith, I swear to you that nothing happened!" Seras furiously whispered, feeling her face flush at the accusation. "I-I made to leave, but he spoke of things that I could not in good conscience leave without challenging!"

Edith practically groaned, the stark opposite of ladylike behavior. Seras couldn't help but stare at the display. Edith was nothing like her usual self. Her cheeks were flushed and her complexion was blotchy at best. Worst of all, her hems with flecked with spots of mud, and her curls were windblown and spiked with frizz. 

"Seras, you allow your stubbornness to guide you too often! Imagine what he could have done!"

Seras didn't say anything more. Edith was not acting herself. And Seras didn't want to say that something was wrong, because so far nothing was and God forbid fate should decide to change that for her. But Edith was never like this… she was too afraid of being seen and slighted for a lack of composure, afraid of giving anyone something to use against her.  
It was a good thing she believed in free will rather than fate.

The Count was already standing by the doorway when the sisters arrived and cast rather impatient glances out one of the large windows, where large raindrops began to beat against the glass. For Seras, today's experience with the Count had equivocated to meeting an entirely different man from the ball.

Well, the more she thought about the night previous, the more obvious some of his peculiarities became. His irritation, his impatience, his arrogance, his oddity - all were quickly coming to light. Seras wasn't sure if she wanted a suitor like him, just another man who believed that "wife" was synonymous with property.

She looked down at the crystal hanging at her neck in all its glory and scowled to herself.

"Do you find fault with it?" She looked up, caught off guard. The Count had apparently pulled himself out of his reverie just in time to witness her making faces at the undoubtedly priceless crystal necklace he had graciously gifted her with.

"Oh," Seras blushed in embarrassment, "no! I.. It's… You were the one to give it to me, then?'

"Obviously." He hadn't been this rude last night.

"T-thank you." She was trying not to be intimidated by his dark expression, but found herself failing.

"You dislike it." 

"No!" Seras quickly bit back, taking a step forward. Surprised by her own sudden brashness, Seras's blush darkened and she stepped back next to Edith. "No, what I meant was that… that…"

He might as well have just started tapping his foot impatiently on floor with the peevish look he was giving her.

"The necklace and the pin were both very beautiful. But I don't deserve…" She paused, not wanting to belittle herself, "…don't need such flattery. You needn't spend such excess on one such as me." Hopefully that was acceptable enough and he wouldn't take offense, but you could never be sure about the aristocracy when ego came in to play.

For a moment, Edith thought the Count was surprised by her sister's words. But any lingering traces of astonishment were quickly paved over by a satisfied smile.

"Such trinkets matter little to me when I have so many, Miss Victoria. Consider them a gift for allowing one such as myself the pleasure of your company last night." His wording and ill-hidden innuendo made her tongue go dry, and for a moment she could only nod before she could gather her wits about her. Good lord, what was wrong with her? She had never had so much trouble interacting with a man before!

However, if it had only been a gift, did that mean he didn't intend to court her? She relaxed slightly at the thought, and refused to acknowledge the part of her that simultaneously crumpled in disappointment.

"Speaking of company…" the Count said as he turned back to the window, just in time to see a sparkling new black carriage lead by two thoroughbred Friesians stop in front of the library. "My coach has arrived. Might I offer assistance to such fine young ladies? It would kill the gentleman inside of me to leave you here, alone and waiting for your carriage in the cold rain." He had decide to switch back to the persona Seras had familiarized herself with last night, right down to the satirical smile and cock of the head.

Seras and Edith exchanged glances. They were going to be standing in the library, watching for their father's older coach from the window.

"Thank you for your concern, My Lord," Edith began, "but I'm afraid our coach will be expecting us. With great regret we must decline your offer." She offered a sorry smile. The Count didn't seem put out in the least.

"Oh come now Miss Victoria, are you really going to deny me, the Lord of Wallachia?" He slowly walked away from the window, his footsteps clicking on the faded wood flooring. "You would greatly offend me and leave me with a horrid impression of Englishmen." Edith's expression faltered slightly.

"It is not proper. We are respectable ladies, and respectable ladies do not ride unattended in closed carriages with men."

"Wonderful! We are in agreement. By the prescience of both sisters neither one is unattended, and have no reason to worry because they will not be accompanied by a man, but a gentleman." His smile was cunning and malicious, all too aware of the trap he had set. He confidently strode forward to take each sister's arm in one of his own and pulled them toward the door.

Edith shuddered as a drop of cold sweat fall down her back. Seras' heart rate had somehow gone up another notch at his very touch. They were trapped, and all three of them knew it.

The carriage ride hadn't been as bad as Edith had predicted… but then, she had mentally prepared herself for the worst. Traffic was light – as could be predicted for a Sunday – and the supposed criminal hadn't assaulted or attacked them the minute he pulled the door closed. In fact, he hadn't even paid much attention to her at all and chose to focus much of the conversation on Seras, much to her own relief and unease.

But Sir Hellsing's words floated through her mind every time Seras answered one of the Count's questions, though to be fair all of them were relatively innocent. What was her favorite flower? Who were her friends? When was her birth date? Where was she born?

A majority of the ride was spent discussing some new, thick, Russian book Edith had never found the interest or time to read: Peace and War, War and Peace, whatever it was called.

They liked to debate justice and fairness. The Count's less than merciful views made her feel uncomfortable, and from her sister's reactions, Seras shared in her misgivings. But that didn't stop her from occasionally giggling and flirting and doing the exact opposite of what Edith had hoped she was going to do. It didn't help that the Count was being surprisingly flirtatious as well – apparently books of all things brought out the best in him.

Edith didn't want to play the villain. She had hoped that Seras would've given this man the polite indifference and rejection that she gave all her other suitors. But of course for this man, that wasn't the case. It was just Edith's luck that Seras would be flirty, flustered, intrigued, irritated, and attracted to only this man.

Of course.

No matter, Edith tried to reconcile with herself as the carriage pulled to a halt outside their brown brick townhouse. It was no matter of her concern, Edith thought as she watched the Count leap from the carriage to offer his hand to the ladies still inside. It was up to her parents, her mother, to make the decision, not her. It was none of her concern.

She watched Seras take his hand to be practically dragged out of the carriage like she weighed nothing more than a flower. She watched as Seras stumbled from the abrupt pull and ended up almost flush against the Count's chest, the smug smirk and strategically placed hand on Seras' lower back all too telling.

Edith helped herself down, forgotten, and watched as her sister flew from his grasp with a fluster of apologies and self-beratings. The Count smiled as he said something to her sister, which of course only made her sputter more and indignantly move toward the front step. Edith turned her attention from Seras, only then to meet his momentarily uncovered gaze from over his eye glasses.

His red-as-blood gaze.

And then the eyeglasses were replaced, he turned to follow Seras up the step, and she couldn't breathe. She couldn't think. She couldn't move. But oh, that thing was entering her home! That thing had been invited in! She had to move, she had to warn them!

Edith jerked from her stupor and ran up the slick steps, tripping on her skirts once or twice, to practically throw herself through the ornate door only to find her father shaking hands with the monstrosity. Seras was being mauled by their mother, who was covertly pulling and smoothing every wrinkle in Seras' dress and skin.

Edith stood in the doorway, watching. For a moment she thought she saw his face flicker in her direction with the hint of one of those awful smiles. It was a smile that kept her up late that night and helped her finish a hasty letter to Sir Hellsing.

_Sir Hellsing,_

_Your expertise may be required after all. After experiencing certain events, I would be most indebted to you if you could spare an afternoon to speak about the circumstances. I find myself in a grievous need of your advice, and I pray it is not too late._

The wording was labored over and laced with hyperbole and double meaning for fear of it being opened by the wrong eyes before reaching Sir Hellsing. After it was postmarked and sneakily placed in the gilded gold mailbox on the front stoop, its writer returned to bed with a heart made lighter by the knowledge of initiating a possible solution. It was a good thing that she was unaware of the creeping shadow that easily read the letter through the envelope, able to catch on to her every meaning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> revelabis: to reveal


	4. exarmo

Seras made it a point to slam her bedroom door extra loud, just in case her family wasn't certain of her opinion on the matter. The sound was followed by the click of a lock, and then a frantic rapping on the other side of the door.

"Seras! Seras, open the door!" It was Edith.

Seras tore at the buttons on the back of her dress in a mad attempt to get ready for bed by herself, but just couldn't reach that one at the bloody top. She-

"I need to speak with you Seras. It's important, you must hear me! Please!"

-would be damned if she left her room before the evening was over, let alone see or speak with anyone. She was going to have the rest of the night to herself if it killed her. 

The knocking subsided for a moment, and Seras looked up from her night drawer. Had Edith really given up so quickly?

"You are acting _such_ the child, Seras! You should be thankful, not angry!" Edith suddenly screeched from the other side of the door, simultaneously resuming her barrage.

Seras' eyes widened. But wait, no, she wasn't going to take such obvious bait. If previous endeavors served for any study, Edith would tire and give up soon. 

"Why do I have to act more mature when you're supposedly the eldest?"

Seras clenched her fists, her nails indenting little half-crescents in her palms as she stalked across her room. She unlocked and threw open the door. Edith stood there, momentarily frozen with an angry grimace and her fist poised to knock on the door.

"Childish? Me, childish! You hypocrite! How dare you call me childish when you manipulated them in to forcing me to decline!" Seras snapped, flicking an accusing finger in Edith's face. Edith, still done up in her pretty pastel visiting dress, took an offended step back.

"I did so only with your best interest in mind!" She said, clutching her hand to her chest with what seemed to be a sincere expression. But then again, Edith hadn't gotten to be one of the most promising up-and-coming young ladies in the _ton_ with bad acting.

"Yes, I suppose it would be in my best interest to be the sister-in-law of a Count, wouldn't it?" Seras hissed back, wincing when she realized just how harsh she sounded. Edith narrowed her eyes and took a step forward, made defiant by the accusation.

"You know my true heart, so stop lording what I said at the ball over me!" Edith snapped, pushing Seras back in to her bedroom and quietly shutting the door behind her. "I know you haven't been well lately, but I will not tolerate you taking it out on me!" She pulled off her gloves and hastily slammed them on Seras' nightstand.

At the mention of her affliction, Seras felt her limbs grow heavy and her mind get a bit foggy. It was Friday evening, but she had been feeling ill since waking up the Monday morning after the ball. Of course, it wasn't a horribly worrisome illness. She hadn't been feverish, coughing, or vomiting, so Seras had forced herself to work through it. However, the constant fatigue made her every waking hour miserable.

Seras absentmindedly rubbed her dry eyes. Her body felt as heavy as lead. She could barely focus long enough to read a page of _Anna Karenina_ , let alone humor the irritatingly prying women the Victorias had to visit with.

_How did you ever meet the Count, Seras?_

_What is he like, Seras?_

_I've heard you've befriended him, Seras._

_Is he courting you, Seras?_

It was all anyone could even think to talk about, and it was all her mother seemed to care to talk about. Nevermind Edith and her lovely Oxford suitors; Seras had gained the interest of an exotic nobleman. Of course, whenever they had to tell their company that no, she was _not_ officially being courted by the Count, there was a slight pause and an inaudible breath of relief from the other women. Then they would try to comfort her, as if there had never any real possibility of him taking an interest in her anyway, and remind her that Mr. Thornsbury _had_ always had his eye on her.

Throughout all the gossiping circulating about the Count, Seras had found him to be constantly on her mind, and most recently in her dreams. Some of them had been embarrassing to remember afterward, and had usually involved light kisses and tender caresses… and some things that could never, ever be spoken of outside the bedroom. But they now now seemed to be engrained in her consciousness, and she found that it didn't her surprise her as much as it would have before. She found that she couldn't stop thinking of him.

She liked to think about their lovely conversation when he escorted her and Edith home on Sunday. It had been one of those rare conversations where so much hadn't needed to be spoken to be understood. They spoke of literature and philosophy - how wonderful it was to be spoken to as an intellectual equal. It was so rare to be regarded for anything more than her looks or social status. Certainly his gifts were nothing to scoff at either, but Seras found herself to be most enamored with the way he treated her more than anything else.

After all, his untoward manners in the library could easily be attributed to cultural differences. And he hadn't outright told her not to join the Force after all - he had even called her Police Girl! He did, however, seem like he could be cruel. But such personality traits could be tempered with time, Seras supposed.

Furthermore, Seras was certain she'd never seen a man more handsome than him. He was a vision - something that dripped beauty and danger and seduction. She was sure he was a a predator, but she rather liked the idea of her being his prey.

And so, through no new action on his behalf, Seras found that she had begun to take a rather keen interest in the Count.

Therefore, when an invitation from the Count arrived just at twilight requesting Seras' accompaniment to an exclusive upcoming ball, Seras was ecstatic. Finally, they could get to know each other without worrying about causing a scandal! However, Edith blatantly protested against Seras' accompanying him when the letter was read at dinner. Her father was quick to agree.

It was much too forward an invitation, Edith said. To accept it would give him, and thus everyone else, the wrong opinion of her - _especially_ after his previous gifts. Her father, all too wary of the ills of man, had wasted no time in agreeing, even though he had met the Count on several occasions and didn't particularly like or dislike him.

Seras had at first thought she heard them wrong. And then she absorbed what had happened, became angry, and ran off to her room like a spoiled child.

"You accuse me of being childish when you allow your jealousy to tamper with your own sister's prospects!" Seras snapped, taking a step back to lean on the doorframe. She hadn't been able to stand long on her own these past few days.

"I only try to protect you! He is not to be trusted! He, he-" Edith's voice grew shriller and more frustrated with every word. How badly she wanted to warn her sister of the monster, of what he could be and what he could do! But Sir Hellsing's warning from the Church rang clear in her mind, and it took everything she had to bite her tongue.

"What is he, Edith?" Seras was now putting her entire weight on to the doorframe. She was so tired, much too tired to argue anymore. Her skin had become stark shade of grey.

Edith made a face, and both sisters stared at each other for a tense moment.

Edith sighed and shook her head. "No, I… I apologize, Seras. I should not have interfered. Sometimes I find it difficult to follow in such a wonderful elder sister's footsteps, and get a bit sour." Edith apologized, forcing a small smile. She was surprised when Seras actually seemed to believe such a poor excuse. It was a good thing Seras looked as though she was about to fall asleep on her feet.

"Oh, I'm sorry too, Edith." Seras said with a little laugh, somehow finding the strength to push herself off the doorframe to pull Edith in for an impromptu hug. Edith held on to her embrace for a moment, burying her face into the shoulder of her sister's nightgown. She smelled of soap and lilac.

"Edith…" Seras murmured quietly when her sister's grip tightened, and her shoulders began to shake. "Edith, dear, are you alright? I-I'm sorry that I was cross… I really shouldn't have been so harsh! Oh, nothing I said I meant at all! Edith?"

Edith could hear the tiredness in her sister's voice and felt the weakness in her grip. She pushed down her feelings and took a breath before pulling out of the embrace, meeting her sister's concerned face with another forced smile. 

"I'm so silly sometimes, Seras, I… it's quite late. You should be in bed, what with your illness!" Edith switched the topic with a cheery laugh, grabbing her sister's shoulders and pushing her back in to the bedroom.

"Off to bed with you!" Edith laughed again, pushing Seras all the way through to the room to the edge of her bed. "How embarrassing it would be to fall asleep as you ate scones at Mr. Thornsbury's tea!"

Seras sat down slowly on to the bed before gingerly laying her head on the pillow. Edith could see the sluggishness in her. "Oh, don't remind me! And why is it that you don't have to suffer alongside me?" She groaned.

"I've already made plans for the afternoon, thank you very much!" Edith chirped, skipping toward the door. She paused once she reached it, and turned back to her sister. Seras still lay on top of the covers, eyes fixed on the ceiling, lips pursed. Edith looked away. She did not have regrets.

"Good night, Seras."

"Oh, good night, Edith."

As Edith pulled the door closed she watched Seras put out the lamp, and watched darkness take over. She quickly clicked it shut, and pulled her hand off the doorknob as if burned. 

She did not put out her own lamp that night.

______________________________________________

The morning seemed to come as go as quickly as the sun rose, and by a quarter to noon the entire household was in chaos. The Victoria ladies stood in the entry hall, fans and bonnets in hand, the younger two patiently waiting for their mother to finish making last minute preparations before they set out.

"And yes, have him know that if anything goes wrong I shall place blame wholeheartedly on him." Mrs. Victoria explained to Nora, her favorite servant. "Oh, I do think he enjoys torturing me so! Leaving your family to answer the invitation of a colleague – oh, what cruelty! Oh, my poor nerves!" She fanned her face dramatically.

Usually the sisters would have been sharing a laugh at their mother's expense (because living with such a character required a good sense of humor,) but this morning neither expressed such a thought. They stood beside each other, though not together, and merely watched their mother get on. They had spoken to one another, but a feeling of discontent still lingered from the night before.

Mrs. Victoria finally seemed to realize that if they didn't get on now they wouldn't be getting anywhere, and turned away from Nora with an aggrieved sigh before placing her bonnet on her head and heading out the front door. The sisters followed suit, always the obedient daughters.

"I tell you girls, the life of a lady never ceases." For what it was worth, Mrs. Victoria could tie a bow better than anyone in London. Edith thought it sometimes came in handy to have a fashionable mother, especially given that she was about to meet with the young matriarch of one of England's most noble and respected families.

The invitation to tea had arrived several days after she had originally sent her note, and had been delivered by a less than savory fellow who would've been better suited as a mercenary than a messenger. Perhaps he really had been a mercenary - you never knew about aristocrats, especially those as eccentric as Sir Integra Hellsing.

Her family had been very surprised, and Edith had been forced to fabricate a story about Father Alexander introducing them (true), them hitting it off as fast friends (lie), and Integra allowing Edith to call on her any time she wished (sort of true). No one had really believed her, and Edith couldn't blame them. She was a terrible liar. But they couldn't just have her reject Sir Hellsing's request, no matter how out of the blue it had seemed to be.

As their modest carriage was escorted through thick wrought iron gates, along a mile drive, and finally the main drive of the Hellsing Manor, Edith suddenly felt so anxious that she wished that her family had disagreed with the whole thing. The mansion was gothic in design, and as intimidating and elegant as its current heir. When the carriage finally reached the main entrance they were greeted by a stately gentleman who had apparently met her mother and Seras before.

"It was the Duke's last ball, I believe." He intoned solemnly. Everything at Hellsing Manor seemed to be solemn, including the people.

"Oh yes, it is nice to see you again!" Seras had responded, perfectly masking her suspicion of what business Edith had to do with such people with practiced, cheery politeness.

Edith was helped out of the carriage and eventually into the mansion, even though her mother and Seras had suggested that they pay their respects to Sir Hellsing as well. Edith was thankful that Walter was as blunt as he was tactical when he plainly stated that the aristocrat did not see people she did not send for. At this point all Edith had to think was merely based on intuition and hunches, terrible foreboding feelings and malicious thoughts.

But, Edith thought as they passed through the regal estate, she would know for certain after this meeting. Sir Hellsing and her retainer wouldn't let themselves be bothered any longer than need be, so hopefully Sir Hellsing could put her mind at ease and Edith could get home and finish her embroidery. She was falling very far behind in it.

The pair passed through a long, stately hallway lined with portraits of whom Edith supposed were Sir Integra's predecessors. Walter didn't slow his pace for any admiration, so she only had a moment to glance over each portrait as she passed. The collection struck her as… off. What she found odd was that the first half of portraits expectedly portrayed fair, elegant gentlemen who held themselves with the usual smug happiness that all the landed gentry seemed to exude.

The third to last portrait was rather somber compared to its predecessor, bathed in dark tones and giving light to a tight-lipped old gentleman. The next painting continued to lose any sort of pleasure or frivolity as they continued down the line, each Hellsing heir seemingly growing colder and more guarded as each generation passed. Strangely, there was not yet one of Integra. Perhaps she thought herself too young for a portrait, or the tradition too old-fashioned to continue. Or, perhaps she hadn't earned her right to one yet.

They eventually came to a large set of Moroccan wood doors. Walter knocked twice before fluidly pushing one open, holding the door for her.

The office was rather plain and practical, with large sets of windows behind a varnished oak desk and oversized leather chair. Edith shuffled toward the desk, where Sir Integra seemed to be very busy with writing reports and chewing cigars. A cloud of sweet smoke choked the air like the incense Father Anderson used at mass. Edith found it rather hard to breathe until she took one of the padded chairs opposite the desk and pulled herself down and out of the cloud.

They sat there like that for short while, Sir Integra working, Edith watching her continue to work, and Walter dutifully standing off in the corner behind Sir Integra's desk. Edith didn't dare say anything, for to be invited to such a private room was a great honor in itself.

It was only was Sir Integra had to reach for a new cigar did she seem to take notice of Edith's presence. She regarded Edith coolly as she held up her cigar for Walter to light, as if checking her over for something in particular.

"Miss Victoria." A white puff of smoke flew from her lips, and Edith tried her hardest not to cough.

"I greatly appreciate-" Edith coughed. "-your hospitality, Sir Hellsing." Sir Integra was still watching her with those emotionless eyes, seeming to see her very soul and pass heavenly judgment. Edith thought it was justified. After all, she had made quite preposterous claims; a malicious red-eyed nobleman? Ridiculous!

Edith had been surprised that Sir Integra had decided to see her, let alone finish her letter after making such a claim.

Sir Hellsing merely nodded and pushed the stack of paperwork aside, giving her full attention to her uncomfortable client. "Please further explain the peculiarities you mentioned in the letter, and why they trouble you." She said, leaning back in to her red leather chair with a surprisingly blatant disregard for posture.

Edith quickly nodded. "Of course."

And so she told Sir Hellsing about how strange she found the man, how rude he and forward he had been, his uncomfortably obvious affection for her Seras, and those terrifying red eyes. But when she spoke of the incidents out loud, the more silly and paranoid she thought she sounded. And judging by Sir Hellsing's irritated expression, the noble thought the same.

"And how fares your family?" It was one of those questions that signaled an end to a conversation. Although Sir Integra regarded the Count as some kind of threat, Edith had not apparently given her enough information to go by. Edith bit her lip. No, no that wouldn't do! She knew the Count was dangerous, and Sir Hellsing knew he was as well!

"Seras fell ill shortly after making the Count's acquaintance in the library the Sunday last." Edith quickly piped up, her voice hasty and desperate. Sir Hellsing's head snapped from the crystal clock on the corner of her desk to Edith once again.

"Indiscriminately describe your sister's ailment." She said as she crushed the butt of her cigar in to the marble ashtray before reaching for a new one. Her tone was suddenly so serious that Edith sat a little straighter.

"Seras has been…" Edith thought back to her sister's earlier outburst, "very ill. Something became wrong with her much too quickly. In a few days' time, she has become so sluggish that she cannot climb the stairs without fear of fainting. She is inattentive, and rarely touches her meals. She's much too pale, and just the other morning had to lie down for fear of a swoon."

Edith jumped over her words, feeling her heart race when the noble shared a look with her retainer. Truth be told, Edith hadn't thought that Seras was made ill by the Count. All she had known was that she couldn't let this meeting go to waste.

"You've accurately described the symptoms of anemia, Miss. Victoria." Walter explained as he placed a light under Sir Integra's waiting cigar.

Edith blinked, surprised. "Anemia! Why, my sister is not anemic in the slightest!"

"She apparently is now." Sir Hellsing sighed as she rolled the cigar through her fingers, surveying Edith with an unreadable expression. "Exactly what happened after the Count revealed his eyes to you?"

"Seras invited him inside, where he met my mother, father, and my father's colleague, Mr. Thornsbury. He left quite promptly afterward."

Integra set down her cigar for the first time in the meeting and exchanged it for what seemed to be a small crystal glass of scotch. Her lips were pulled back in to a taunt, bitter smile. Walter seemed to take the news with less humor, and remained standing behind Sir Integra's chair with a grave expression.

"You must understand, Miss Victoria, that my organization operates almost solely on secrecy and discretion. As such I am not at liberty to fully explain your sister's predicament, but rest assured that you were quite justified in seeking my assistance. From the information you've given me, I am able to discern the situation. These events are indeed linked." Sir Integra deadpanned, resting her folded hands next to the green marble ashtray.

Edith leaned forward in her chair, forcing herself not to smile. Yes! Now hopefully Sir Hellsing could help Seras, send the Count back to whatever awful little village he sprung from, and Seras could move on to follow her dreams or whatever.

"Sir Integra… you will help me help Seras, won't you?" Edith asked all too hopefully, thinking she already knew the answer. Her heart caught a chill when she saw the heiress' expression.

"You know not what you ask, Miss." She said after a moment, her eyes narrowed and voice cold. Edith bit back a gulp. She still had another question.

"And... what exactly is the Count… Sir Hellsing?" Edith managed to whisper even though the sudden silence made it feel like a scream. Both Sir Hellsing and Walter regarded her for a tense moment, until Sir Hellsing finally heaved a sigh.

"He is not a child of God like you and I, Miss Victoria."

Edith gawked at her, wringing her hands together. Never had she felt so uncertain, so helpless, so afraid. Indirect answers always hinted at the full truth. This Count… this monster… was exactly what she had feared, perhaps even worse, and as of right now Edith had no way of saving her sister.

"What will he do to her? Why does he want her? How can I save her?' Edith cried, standing so suddenly that she flipped her chair. Sir Hellsing stood as well and opened one of her desk drawers, reaching inside to pull out two simple silver crosses on silver chains. She offered them to Edith over the table, her arm as stiff and unjointed as a steel rod.

"Both you and she are to wear these at all times. Never remove them, not even to bathe." Sir Integra warned her as she made her way around the desk, crossing her arms behind her. Her navy men's suit was freshly ironed with not a crease to be seen, and her footsteps were silent on the thick Persian rug.

"When you see the Count next… and you most definitely will see him again… blatantly rebuke his invitation in to your home." Sir Hellsing said with the utmost seriousness, casting a glance over her shoulder at her butler.

"What? But that'd only anger him! What if he decided to… to… kill us in our beds! Mere words would not deter him!" Edith blanched. She hadn't intended to use such a cliché, but it was very well tuned for her situation.

But Sir Hellsing only smirked, which in turn made Edith feel a little relieved and a little foolish.

"Oh yes, he may very well become angry, but he will not be able to harm you there unless you allow him to."

Edith frowned. "I don't see why that would matter to someone as awful as he."

Sir Hellsing matched her frown, but chose to ignore her comment. "You mustn't tell anyone of our meeting, especially your sister. Sometimes ignorance is not only bliss, but also safety. Her innocence may save her, and we must keep such an advantage."

____________________________

Seras had always favored High Tea over Low Tea, and she had always preferred Oolong over Darjeeling. But, of course Mr. Thornsbury was only serving Darjeeling at his Low Tea, she was starving, and his invitation had specifically called for hats. She hated hats, especially the one she was wearing now.

The fine, circular white straw bonnet was trimmed with sky blue silk flowers and bows. While they were pretty bows, they'd managed to collect so much dust from her armoire that it was effectively giving her a cold. Also, the silky blue streamers tickled the back of neck to the point of causing the skin to break out in irritation, and once again her corset was too tight. She felt faint and wanted to eat, but it was an unwritten rule that ladies didn't eat more than a teacake in public. 

All in all, Seras was having a miserable time.

It was a rather large get-together filled with lesser aristocrats and higher-ranking gentry, other high-end attorneys and their higher-end clients. And of course, every man had brought his wife. It was a rather more informal tea than most this size usually were, but Mr. Thornsbury's uncle had recently been named the Duke of Hampshire, catapulting his own social status by several degrees. He now had the leverage to do whatever he wanted to at his tea.

Seras and her mother were in the middle of a round of croquet in the back garden with the wife of one of Mr. Victoria's acquaintances and her daughter. The older women never seemed to stop to take a breath in between streams of gossip while their daughters struggled to maintain a conversation about the weather. Seras also had the worst score, which she contributed to her foul health. The only thing was that she couldn't let anyone know just how foul it really was. Illness was only to be spoken of in the privacy of one's own home, and not in polite society.

Mr. Thornsbury seemed to notice something was off when she and her mother had greeted him, but was polite enough not to mention it. And now she awkwardly stood with her mother and her mother's friend's daughter, trying her best to stomach the Darjeeling tea that had been served and survive this last damn game of croquet. They were going to be leaving soon – they had to be leaving soon, right? Seras hoped so. She really, really hoped so.

"Oh!" The friend suddenly stopped her flow of gossip to look at something well behind Seras' shoulder, probably at someone on the patio. Seras leaned her weight on her racket, not bothering to see who it was. She felt like she barely had the energy to stand anymore, let alone make small talk.

"Good afternoon, My Lord!" Mrs. Victoria practically yelled as she and the other ladies dipped into deep curtsies.

Seras felt like her insides froze. The Count, here? But she hadn't mentally prepared herself for meeting him yet! She had sent her note of declination yesterday morning, and for the sake of avoiding awkward conversation she really hoped he hadn't read it yet. She forced herself to turn around and saw that yes, he had most definitely had gotten her letter.

He nodded to the group before continuing to advance toward them, toward her, like a falcon descending on its prey. He wore the usual gentleman's attire accented with bits of red here and there, and his eyeglasses were still irritatingly dark. His steps were as heavy as his expression, and his frown was bitter enough to make the Darjeeling seem sweet.

He stopped just in front of her to look down on her, making it painfully obvious just why he seemed so bothered. Everyone else in the garden seemed to be staring at them now, and Seras' cheeks flushed with embarrassment. The Count didn't seem to care. Seras gulped, unsure of whether to feel guilty, afraid, or angry at the unfairness of it all. After all, it hadn't been her idea to reject his offer!

The other three women wisely made their way to a hole farther down the line, just out of hearing distance but certainly well in sight. This would make the gossip mill go in to overdrive.

"I wanted to tell you that I received your note, and will have you know that I have found another suitable companion to accompany me to the ball. You mustn't worry for my sake, Miss Victoria." His words weren't biting or snappish, but cool and calm. It seemed to make them all the crueler.

Seras felt her throat constricting and her eyes prickling as her mind begged her tears not to fall, to only wait a moment more. But she couldn't speak, she couldn't think of something smart or ladylike to say. It was all just too much. She had wanted to go with him! It wasn't her fault that she couldn't attend; her father had practically hovered over her shoulder as she wrote the note, and explicitly disallowed her from mentioning her rejection stemmed from the wishes of her family.

Seras took in a shaky breathe. And now, because of her family's overprotectiveness, she had been replaced for what could've been such a magical night! Oh, what could have been! It was almost too painful to think about.

"I, I swear to you that I would have accepted you." Seras managed to blurt out, her voice cracking here and there and her mind too taken by emotion to filter her words. The Count seemed unchanged

"I would have accepted you had my family allowed it!" Seras' face burned in shame and embarrassment as she felt hot tears slide down her cheeks and her throat clog, making her words come out in pathetic, disgusting sobs. Why was she getting so emotional? She looked at the ground, wishing so hard that she could suddenly disappear and never be found.

She was pathetic, crying like a baby in front of the Count. He would now likely never want to see her ever again. No strong, important man like him would want anything to do with a weak excuse for a woman like her. God, she couldn't even face him without crying! How would she ever face the crime or death that came with police work?

The Count hadn't said anything, and his shoes hadn't yet moved. Seras harshly wiped at her cheeks with her gloved hands and began to walk away, hoping to save what little dignity she had left. She was weak, she was so, so disgusting, she-

She…

….

And then the next thing she knew was that she could not see, but heard different voices yelling her name and the names of others. She foggily braced herself for impact against unforgiving ground, but instead felt strong arms around her and her face brush against crisp, sweet-smelling fabric. The arms lowered her to the grassy ground and she felt something soft being placed under her legs. The strong arms were still secure around her. A gloved hand lightly caressed her check and untied her bonnet, fingers brushed through her hair.

Her eyes fluttered open after a moment, and at first there was nothing to see except for black and a flurry of disembodied voices and sounds. Slowly, ever so slowly, colors returned, shapes formed and lines sharpened to reveal worried faces and concerned and angry voices. Her mother, her mother's friend, and Mr. Thornsbury were looking down at her, saying things that she couldn't quite yet decipher.

Seras looked down to see her legs slightly elevated by cushions too fine to be out on the grass, and even stranger yet, two gloved hands clasped firmly around her waist.

"You're defeating the purpose, Count. The blood won't get to her head in that manner; it's a stroke of good luck she even woke up a t'all." It was Mr. Thornsbury, who sounded angry. Seras blinked, confused, and leaned back.

Oh my god.

"It seems our Sleeping Beauty has finally been awakened. As such I see no reason to change our position and risk worsening her sensitive _condition_." The Count's voice reverberated against her back through their clothing. Seras immediately stiffened and tried to sit up, but his grip on her only tightened. His fingers drummed along her waist. She fidgeted and tried to speak, but everyone else was beating her to it. She felt his heat radiate from him to her, cocooning her in to a sense of security. She stopped fidgeting, and instinctively leaned in to the embrace.

"You may think so, but it'd be best to see her home and to a doctor." Mr. Thornsbury sniffed with an ill hidden sneer.

"Yes sir, you are quite right." The Count agreed with a grave face, finally relinquishing his hold on Seras to gently lay her on the ground. Mr. Thornsbury seemed to be satisfied for a moment before watching the Count bend down to sweep Seras into his arms as if she weighed nothing more than a kitten.

Seras' mouth fell open and her cheeks burned redder than she previously thought possible, stuttering and fidgeting in his iron grip. "E-excuse me!" She called out, though didn't bother to call out again when she was blatantly ignored. This was a special circumstance, after all, so the rules of etiquette could look the other way just this once… and it wasn't as if she particularly disliked her situation…

"My god man, set her down!" Mr. Thornsbury snapped.

"What in heaven's name...!" Her mother crowed loudly, attracting more attention (but not sounding overly concerned.)

It was just good to keep up appearances. The more shocked, insulted, and unwilling the lady, and the more chivalrous the gentleman, the more accepted such an intimate action could be. After all, such a breach was only being made in dire circumstances, and what could be direr than an ailing lady?

"Madam," The Count called out to Seras' mother, who at this point was also close to swooning, "we shall take my carriage." It was not a question or a recommendation. If her mother hadn't given her consent almost before he stopped speaking, it could have been regarded as a kidnapping! Mr. Thornsbury was certainly saying it could have been as much, what with the Count so blatantly walking away with a lady without the lady's consent.

"You… you will ruin me." Seras muttered in embarrassment as he pushed their way out of the well-to-do townhome and down the front staircase. People entering and leaving the party stopped to stare at them, the men calling out to the Count to ask after her. She didn't have to look up to know he was wearing that awful smile, that same smile that used to haunt her.

"Only if you allow it to be so." The Count laughed dryly as he helped her in to the carriage before turning to her mother, who had been following them all this time, disarming concerned passerby. The ride back to the Victoria household was rather uneventful, but the respects paid afterward were quite the spectacle.

"You are truly a gracious man, My Lord. How might I ever repay you for the help you have given?" Mr. Victoria had said, albeit begrudgingly, once Seras had been escorted to her chambers and a doctor had been sent for. He'd begun to distrust the man who had taken an all too quick and eager interest in his daughter.

And the Count had only smiled, and Mr. Victoria instantly regretted his choice of words.

"My friend, I fear you have come to believe me to be too forward. So it is with great humbleness that I ask your permission to court your daughter."

And what could Mr. Victoria say to one who he was obligated to address as "My Lord?"

______________________________

Edith stepped out of her carriage, clutching her silver crucifix close to her bosom and replaying her visit at the Hellsing Estate over and over. She looked up to the front door, and her heart sank.

And then… there he was. Coming out of her home, of all places!

When had he gotten in? Who had let him in? How long had the beast been here?

Edith felt sick to her stomach… and then something else.

Looking back, Edith wasn't sure what exactly made her do it. Perhaps her courage had been stirred from her visit with the assertive Sir Hellsing, or perhaps she had just finally had enough of the constant fear for herself and for her sister. It was time that she faced the monster.

They met at the bottom of the step, Edith cutting him off just as he was about to make for his own polished coach. He regarded her with disinterest, and asked her to get out of the way.

"I rebuke your invitation to this house." She hissed, clenching her fists and not able to meet his hidden gaze. "You are no longer welcome here." There. It was done. She grasped at her necklace again, only to be harshly shouldered aside- practically pushed on to her own stoop.

The Count left in stormy huff, and for the rest of the evening Edith wondered if she hadn't just let her fear get the better of her. But when Seras recovered from her illness in a matter of a few days, Edith knew she had made the right choice. It was a thought she needed when she was kept awake by an awful, sharp scraping and scratching outside her first-floor window, accompanied by the ungodly growls of some demented creature.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> exarmo: to disarm


	5. cadere

Seras believed that things were finally looking up.

After the embarrassing episode at Mr. Thornsbury's tea, Seras had finally been forced to address her illness as something not to be ignored, and was sentenced to bed rest for a week. She was diagnosed with anemia by the physician her father called for, which didn't make much sense to her.

Anemia was, by definition, a decrease in the number of a person's red blood cells. It was caused by a wide variety of medical jargon: blood loss, vitamin deficiency, genetic abnormalities. After speaking with Mrs. Victoria about Seras' diet, the physician had determined the cause to be a vitamin deficiency. The deficiency's effects had apparently been magnified by stress (apparently she was "too anxious,") a lack of sufficient oxygen (it was the corset!) and heat exhaustion (70 degrees?). All of these factors had culminated and severely weakened her to the point where her body was unable to cope, the physician stated.

"Could blood loss also account for anemia?" Edith had inquired as she, her mother, and the doctor diligently sat at Seras' bedside the night of her swoon.

There was a beat, and then an affirmative.

"Seras hasn't loss any blood, Doctor." Mrs. Victoria had explained, writing off her daughter's rather odd question as mere curiosity. Edith remained silent for the remainder of the exam.

Seras was assigned a prescription, put on a week of bed rest, and a required daily fluid intake. By the third day Seras had felt like she had gone right back to normal, and by the fifth she was getting a bit stir crazy. Thankfully Edith was at her side in the mornings, and then faithfully returned to sit with her in the evening to make fun of the stuffy people she'd been forced to entertain that afternoon.

It felt like old times as they gossiped about the young men who'd begun to follow Edith around like love struck puppies, carefully sidestepping around any mention of the Count. They laughed at the bad jokes in the print and gobbled up Dickens' latest story installments. Nora brought up dinner on a tray for both of them, and they ate in Seras' bedroom like children.

It was a nice reprieve from the inevitable, the matter that was still lurking in the back of their minds. The matter whose unopened letters to Seras remained on the stairwell, and whose flowers had been delivered to the sitting room instead of Seras' bedroom. Edith knew that flowers could after all cause allergies, after all, and what kind of sister would Edith be if she worsened Seras' condition? However, Edith knew she couldn't hold off on the inevitable for much longer.

It was on the morning of the sixth day that Seras was finally allowed out of her chambers and back in to household life, albeit slowly. She jumped down the stairs on her way to breakfast still dressed in her sleeping gown, much to her mother's distaste, and almost slipped on a stack of letters. The stack scattered across the brightly polished floor of the foyer.

"Oh, bother!" Seras bent to pick them up, and frowned when she realized they were all addressed to her. 

The letters were written in a heavy, elegant hand that had seemed to labor over her name in dark ink. There was no return address, but there was a red wax seal on the back of each envelope. Seras couldn't help the goofy grin. Without an address, she knew exactly who had sent her these letters. His penmanship seemed to match him, after all.

She flipped each letter other. Judging by the dates, he'd written her every day since she had fallen ill at Mr. Thornsbury's party! Her heart fluttered as she struggled to tear the seal of the first letter she scooped up, all but forgetting that the rest of the family was waiting on her to breakfast.

Sera startled when she heard soft footsteps start down the hallway behind her, and quickly placed the stack behind one of the Ming vases in the foyer. She didn't want to share whatever the Count had written with her family anymore. Her family was too dramatic, especially her mother. So Seras turned on her heel and made her way in to the dining room, anxiously waiting to read whatever scandalous notes the Count had sent her.

But after the family had disbanded after breakfast, Edith to Rotten Row, her father to his law office, her mother to the florist and she to her room, Seras found that her so-called love letters weren't so scandalous after all. Well, they were scandalous in nature - what respectable lady received five letters from one suitor the mere week after he received permission to court her? They had only known each other for three weeks as well… wasn't there some sort of time period they had to go through before they courted?

Oh, well. She had begun to enjoy her time with the Count enough to cease caring about such petty things… though, perhaps it was in both their best interests that she not tarnish her reputation in any way. No respectable gentleman like the Count would ever been seen with a lady in disgrace.

Seras frowned as she closed her chamber door behind her, letters in hand. She didn't want something as silly as societal opinion to get in the way of what was becoming a blossoming relationship. Seras had begun to allow herself to accept the fact that she may be falling for the Count. Certainly he was eccentric and peculiar, but he was also chivalrous, generous, beautiful, and charismatic. Most importantly, he saw her an intellectual equal. He also had a certain blunt wit and cynical sense of humor that she appreciated. Such was very much present in his letters:

_April 4, 1845_

_Police Girl,_

_It is to my understanding that you have fallen ill - a fact that serves as a scant surprise. I lament that you will become a shut-in for an indeterminable period of time, and that I may not be able to take pleasure in your entertaining company. Do try and get well, and avoid any parties held by Thornsbury. ___

__Seras was glad she was the one to be opening his letters. Neither Edith nor her mother would have been able to appreciate such, _ahem_ , wit…_ _

__His other letters were just about as lengthy and sentimental as the first. His most recent letter, which had been dated just the day prior, threatened at him paying a visit to the Victoria household if he did not receive word from her or her family at some point. Seras had smiled ear to ear when she read that bit, and stuck it in the necklace drawer of her jewelry case for safekeeping. She knew that it was the closest thing she'd get to a love letter from him._ _

__It was that day that she took the time to finally respond, and it was on the sixth day that she was pronounced well and recovered enough to go out and about for short periods of time – and by "go out," she was able to mill about other parts of the household for as long as she wished. It was on the seventh day, another Sunday, that Seras put her reclaimed freedom to use._ _

__The grandfather clock in the drawing room had just begun to chime half-past seven when there was a brisk knock at the front door. The Victoria family sat together in the drawing room, where the women listened to Mr. Victoria read from Revelations as they caught up on their sewing._ _

__The sisters were unglamorously seated on the floor surrounded by spare needles and thread near the window. It wasn't the tidiest predicament, but it was a cozy and well-worn tradition that Seras particularly enjoyed. Their mother seemed to agree with the sentiment, and for that short time she did not nag her daughters to retain their posture or practice their conversation skills._ _

__The day had been unusually frigid for April, and a smoldering fire crackled in the background. The shadows had lengthened, and the setting sun cast a warm glow through the clear glass windows. Edith and Seras sat in companionable silence, enjoying their father' narration of the prophets. And then there was that knock, and the moment was gone._ _

__As Nora went to answer the call with a "Please, do come in," Mrs. Victoria literally leapt in to action from her perch on the faded settee next to her husband, accidentally kicking a basket of yarn and sending the spools everywhere. Mr. Victoria sighed and bookmarked his page before gently setting the Bible down on the dark oak side table next to him._ _

__"My dear, there is hardly a need for such fuss when we do not even know for certain whether or not we have company."_ _

__Mr. Victoria bit back a sigh. Recently he found a reason to sigh too often in his line of work, and refused to have that carry over to his homelife. Edith bit her lip and quietly stood to help her mother collect the spools._ _

__"Well, one knows it's better to be safe than sorry, especially when one is in as sorry as our own, and 'tis-" Mrs. Victoria had begun to say something about preparedness as she bent over to right of the toppled basket, but her breath caught in her throat when she looked. She heard Edith whisper something under her breath from beside her, but chose to ignore such behavior for now; they'd speak of such a lapse later._ _

__The Count had decided to pay their little family a visit. He stood in the entryway to the drawing room with Nora at his side, her small frail frame making his all the larger in comparison. He hadn't even taken his maroon duster off, and still held a wolf-headed cane in his hand. He didn't seem to be planning on staying for long._ _

__"What a wel-welcome surprise, My Lord!" Mrs. Victoria found herself stuttering, and admonished herself for it in her thoughts. She, of all people, stuttering?_ _

__But another side of her, a more realist side, did not chastise her for it. How fair would it be to do so? It was so strange to observe the tall, broad shouldered man in her doorway; she wondered how he had fit through it at all. The Count was undeniably beautiful, a creature more likely to be found in an exotic castle in a fable than her drab, outdated drawing room. Oh, she knew she should've gotten the purple-floral patterned wallpaper instead of the orange! She should've changed the curtains when she had the chance on Thursday morning!_ _

__She could only hope that her bad decisions wouldn't deter him from Seras._ _

__"My Lord, it is a honor to receive you." Mr. Victoria stood from his seat, prompting Seras to do the same. Edith stood beside her mother, clutching an armful of yarn almost protectively to her chest._ _

__"My Lord, may I be of assistance?" Nora asked demurely from behind him, unable to enter the room._ _

__The Count smiled with ill-concealed amusement as he shook Mr. Victoria's hand, blatantly ignoring Nora and Mrs. Victoria, before offering him and then Seras a baleful grin. "It's a beautiful night." He stepped further in to the room, which had seemed to shrink in his very presence._ _

__"Oh yes! The sunset is especially lovely!" Seras piped up, ignoring the discreet jab of the elbow in the stomach from Edith._ _

__Seras gave her sister a skeptical look from the corner of her eye before turning back to the Count. Not the "he's dangerous!" nonsense again! Ever since the Count had taken her and her mother home from the Sunday last, Edith had been acting strangely... religious._ _

__She'd practically forced Seras to wear a silver crucifix and complained when she took it off for less than a minute, and then nailed a crucifix in every room of the home. No one had complained because no one would complain about piousness, but Seras was certain everyone found Edith's resurgence into the faith as strange as she did. Edith, the girl who still had yet to memorize the full Nicean Creed, seemed like the least likely candidate._ _

__Edith had also become rather jumpy and paranoid, and Seras was almost sure she had been having trouble sleeping if the dark purple and brown bags under her eyes were anything to go. Not to mention that she had tea with that strange Sir Hellsing again, and any mere whisper of the Count put Edith in a foul mood._ _

__"Especially lovely, indeed. Though perhaps not as lovely as the ladies I'm graced to be speaking with." The Count turned his gaze on her, smiling wickedly. Seras couldn't help the bashful smile and sudden flush of color over her cheeks. He looked back to Mr. Victoria again, smile persistent._ _

__"Oh, my Lord!" Mrs. Victoria laughed flirtatiously to Edith's disgust._ _

__"I have rudely interrupted your evening to selfishly ask for the favor of Miss Seras' company on an evening stroll about your neighborhood…" The Count began once Mrs. Victoria had calmed herself. "…with the proper accompaniment, of course." He added, catching Mr. Victoria's questioning gaze._ _

__"Of course." Mr. Victoria repeated in emphasis. The Count's smile flickered slightly._ _

__Seras, seeing her chance, decided that now was the best time to get her word in on the matter._ _

__"I would be delighted to make your acquaintance, My Lord… if you don't mind being seen with such a plain lady to-night." Seras' eyes darted to the rather faded dress that she wore. It was something she only wore for her own comfort on private nights, where none but her own family would see her. At the present time her hair wasn't anything remarkable either, and she bore no jewels or anything remotely expensive._ _

__Seras wouldn't have been surprised if the Count did decided to call on her another time. He, dressed in the usual fine silk and perfectly tailored ensemble, certainly deserved better. He even had a little pendant of pure onyx clipped to his necktie, perfectly placed to catch the fading light of the sunset._ _

__"No, not at all." His smile, as cheeky as it was malicious, was directed at her. Seras' cheeks flushed as she looked away to hide her look of amusement._ _

__"Wonderful! I'm in need of a bit of exercise myself - why don't I play chaperone!" Mrs. Victoria announced as she practically threw her yarn on to the settee in her excitement, disregarding the wicker basket Edith had laid next to her._ _

__"I would hate for the Count to see be seen with someone beneath one of his status." Seras sniffed with a mischievous smile. The room was quiet for a moment. There was muffled, unladylike snort from Edith's direction. Mr. and Mrs. Victoria stared at their daughter, flabbergasted, before turning to gauge the Count's reaction._ _

__"I wouldn't worry, Police Girl. I believe we've been seen enough for such an issue to take minor precedence." His tone had turned suggestive._ _

__She started. Why had he seen the need to call her that name in front of her family? In front of her mother? And to word such a statement so suggestively, as if their gallivanting around the streets of London was a regular occurrence!_ _

__"I-I will need a shawl!" Seras squaked, making her escape from what was bound to become an either awkward or confrontational conversation. As she spirited past him, she caught the glint of white from an upturned lip, the crease of an eyebrow. He enjoyed her torment, and she was happy he did._ _

__There was a murmur of conversation in the drawing room as she withdrew her mauve shawl from a hidden closet under the staircase, sighing when she draped it over her shoulders. It was such a depressing, plain color. It perfectly matched her dress of a depressing, faded green color. It was an ensemble that matched her situation, a plain Jane next to a magnificent man._ _

__But it was her who he would be walking with, plain or not. He had not chosen to reschedule or to stay inside. Seras smiled at the thought._ _

__"It is a beautiful night." The Count repeated himself as he joined her in the foyer, his steps soundless and swift. Her mother trudged in right after him, eyeing Seras warily, just daring her daughter to mess this up._ _

__"It is indeed." Seras agreed demurely, pulling the shawl closer to her as she stepped out the front door once her mother was ready. The Count had never taken off his outer-wear to begin with._ _

__They started down the sidewalk side by side with Mrs. Victoria a respectable distance behind them, just out of earshot but not out of sight. Their pace was slow and leisurely, and matched the melancholy atmosphere of the Sunday twilight. The shops' windows were dark and empty. The streetlamps were just beginning to be lit. It was hardly a time to be walking around with a suitor._ _

__The Count seemed to realize this as well. "I'm sorry to say that you will not find me available to be dragged about during the daylight hours, Police Girl." He said rather snidely, as if all she found him good for were bragging privileges._ _

__"Oh no, that's alright!" Seras ignored the insinuation. She didn't think of him as some exotic accessory. "I'm happy to be with you, my Lord, whenever the time's convenient! I am certain one as important as you has little time for leisure." She would take whatever he was willing to offer._ _

__The Count didn't say anything in response, and they continued on in companionable silence for a time._ _

__"Porphyria." The Count broke the silence as they turned a corner, maneuvering to assure that he stood closest to the street and Seras was spared._ _

__"I bed your pardon, my Lord?"_ _

__"I suffer from Porphyria, Police Girl." He said rather gruffly, as if he hated admitting a weakness. "It is a skin condition that causes me great distress if I expose myself to the sun for too long a time."_ _

__Seras blinked. "You joined us in the yard at Mr. Thornsbury's tea…"_ _

__The Count mumbled something under his breath that Seras didn't catch before taking her hand to place it on his arm. She gasped at his forwardness and the fact that he had yet to let go of her hand – probably because he knew she would remove it once he detached his grip. "Why do you think I only sent you letters, Miss Victoria, and never visited in person? I needed time for my own body to recuperate." He returned, no amusement found in his voice._ _

__Seras bit her lip and looked down at her rather scuffed boots. She seemed to be the worst person he could've been with tonight, what with the mess she looked and the inadvertent accusations she had thrown his way._ _

__"I'm sorry, my Lord. You are a terribly resilient person to bear such a burden. You are truly a strong man." She meant it sincerely, genuinely, and it seemed to register with the Count. His features softened slightly, and he removed his hand to pat her little gloved one._ _

__"You are too naïve, Police Girl." He reinstated his grip on her hand and pulled it in closer to his forearm, effectively pulling her a little closer as well. Not as if she minded, however. The walked so close to each other, the fabric of his jacket brushing against the material of her shawl with every step. Seras hoped he couldn't hear her heartbeat like she could, frantically pulsing in her ear._ _

__They walked like that for a while, conversation not seemingly terribly important in the whitewashed light of the rising full moon. Every once in a while one of them would comment on something, whether it be on a little shop passed or a passing thought, but they otherwise allowed the silence to take its course._ _

__That was something Seras liked about the Count. He found no need for petty small talk, to speak merely for the sake of speaking. It was a welcome change from the usual, irrelevant conversations she had to have with almost everyone she met for sake of being polite. It was wonderful to find someone who wasn't afraid of the quiet._ _

__That quiet, however, was quickly distrued when a metal door attached to the pub they'd just passed, squeaky from years' worth of rust, suddenly crashed open.The sharp edge of the door narrowly missed Seras' back, and the Count reacted by grabbing her around the waist and pulling her protectively against him. He raised his walking stick forward like a gun, ready to address whoever tried to climb out the door. Seras stiffened at the contact, watching with wide eyes as the possible assailant moved to reveal himself from behind the door. She cursed herself for not taking a different route; while this way hadn't had a bad reputation, it certainly hadn't had an outstanding one either. And now the Count could get in to trouble on her behalf!_ _

__It would've been more romantic if the Count hadn't been so scary in that moment, his cool breath brushing over her hair in a silent hiss, muscles tense and ready to act. He was ready to attack, ready to bare his teeth and sink them in to whoever the poor, wretched criminal was._ _

__"Pip? Pip Bernadotte! What in heaven's name are you doing in that wretched place?" Mrs. Victoria's call seemed to confuse the Count, who lowered his cane but didn't release his rather inappropriate, though protective, hold on Seras._ _

__Mrs. Victoria saw him first, stumbling out of an unaffiliated rusty door on the edge of an alley, but once he came in to their view Seras breathed a sigh of relief. The Frenchman was clad in dark clothing more fit for the armed forces than polite society - and was that a gun in the pocket of his ragged olive green jacket? Judging from the Count's strengthened hold on her, she assumed so._ _

__Pip blinked and threw his smooth plait over a shoulder, first jumping around to face Mrs. Victora, and then Seras, and then back again. The Count was not amused._ _

__"What the hell did you think you were doing?" He snarled, his voice frightening and accusatory. Pip flinched and scratched the back of his neck sheepishly, wisely casting his eyes down – only to lay sight on Seras._ _

__"Why, it's Seras Victoria! Why are you out here in the dark, Cher?" Pip grinned at her, choosing to ignore the Count for the time being. "And Mrs. Victoria, mon chou, how happy I am to see you!" He turned to address the older woman, who wore a looked crossed with surprise, agitation, and fondness._ _

__Seras forced her way out of the Count's arms as Pip addressed her mother, offering him a shy smile when she heard him practically hiss under his breath. He seemed to be quite moody tonight, and while she suspected she bore a share of the blame for his unhappiness, Seras wasn't about to let him keep her from seeing her dear friend! She hadn't seen him for several weeks!_ _

__"Pip! Oh, Pip, what in heaven's name gives you the right to frighten us so!" Seras laughed as the young man rushed to her, grabbing her waist to spin her around in the air as if they were long-lost lovers. He smelled like cigarette smoke and cotton. Seras didn't turn to see the Count's reaction to their reunification; she didn't have to to know that he was probably less than pleased._ _

__"The sight of you is like water to a man dying of thirst! How good it is to see you!" Pip cheered once he set her down, taking her thin forearms in his large, calloused hands. Seras didn't comment on the fact that he was skirting around her question._ _

__Pip was Seras' senior by several years, but as a child he'd lived down the street from the Victoria household. Seras and Pip officially met in Sunday school; nether had wanted to be there, so a common bond was formed and utilized in times of classroom filibustering and blatant disregard for the forced memorization of prayers. The fact that the two lived so close only heightened a friendship into becoming full-blown blood-brotherhood._ _

__It was only after Pip graduated from Oxford and promptly disappeared off the face of the earth that they began to drift a part. Sera had always suspected that there was more to their friendship on Pip's part, but nothing had even been said or done to directly address the fact._ _

__"What have you been doing all this time?" Seras whispered conspiratorially with a raised brow. Pip only smiled in response, but it didn't reach his eyes. They told a second story that Seras longed to know for his sake. Pip had never been one to internalize before._ _

__"What I have had to do, mon ange." It was less than she had hoped for, but more than she knew she would've gotten had she been anyone else. She worried for him. She had heard from others in the _ton_ that the Bernadottes had fallen in to hot water financially. It was said that Pip had been forced to find new work "underground" to help his family make ends meet. Judging from the state he was in and where he was leaving from, those rumors may not have been unfounded._ _

__A loud, over exaggerated cough broke the moment. The two friends jumped together, Seras' tinkling laugh harmonizing with Pip's deeper one. There was a tap-tap-tapping on the sidewalk, the unmistakable glint of a well-polished shoe. The Count was certainly a frightening man. Seras' smile fell for a split second as her eyes drifted over his sunglasses, afraid of what she would have found had they not been hidden._ _

__"I apologize, I have forgotten myself!" Seras broke away from Pip's embrace, standing in between the two men._ _

__The Count glowered at her, arms crossed, foot still tapping with obviously implied impatience. He seemed to get bigger in such a threatening posture, and he did nothing to make himself any less intimidating to her or Pip. She laughed, trying to lighten the sudden tension, but it came out as strained and awkward. Her mother did nothing to alleviate the situation._ _

__"My Lord, may I introduce my childhood friend, Mr. Pip Bernadotte? And Pip, might I introduce the honorable Count Dracul the Fifth of Wallachia?" Seras said, gesturing from the Count to Pip and then from Pip to the Count. Pip bowed politely before extending his hand to the Count, who merely looked at it and sneered in disdain. Seras blanched._ _

__Pip frowned and drew back his hand. There was silence for a long moment._ _

__"Well, Pip, you will have to pay us a visit to catch up!" Mrs. Victoria had apparently decided to finally take initiative and joined the conversation, laying her hand gently on Pip's arm. Pip's face broke out in another half-hearted smile._ _

__"Certainly!" He laughed, before glancing around them. "It is late. I apologize, I must go." His leave was as curt as his goodbye, offering Seras a light handshake and another (though rather forced) bow to the Count before crossing the road. Seras watched him blend in to the shadows of the street, which was uncomfortably empty._ _

__"It seems we are out rather late as well." She began uncertainly, uncertain of what to make of their meeting, and desperate for something to say._ _

__"Indeed." His voice was contemplative._ _

__The Count regained hold of her hand once they began to walk again, and did not let it leave his arm until they finally returned to the Victoria household a half hour later._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cadere: to fall


	6. perdita

Seras flipped the invitation in her hands a second time, still marveling at the rich, thick quality of the stationary. It was the type of stationary that sat next to the pearls in upscale boutiques, the type of hand-crafted artisan paper Seras liked to look at when her mother went to the jeweler. It didn't surprise her that the Count owned pads of paper that probably cost more than several of her best evening gowns combined.

The Count had delivered the invitation when he saw Seras and her mother back to their home after their evening excursion the Sunday previous, just after he had made his goodbyes and was about to step out the door. He pulled it from an inner pocket of his dark great coat as if he'd almost forgotten, and placed it in Seras' hands with another one of his conniving smiles. Then he left without a word.

Mrs. Victoria had practically torn it out of Seras' hands afterward.

"Oh! Oh my goodness, the Count has invited us to a dinner party!" Mrs. Victoria was so excited Seras thought her mother was literally going to cry.

"Has he now?" Mr. Victoria still wasn't a very big fan of the Count. Something about him just didn't sit right with him, not as though he could ever say so.

The Count had never done him or his family any wrong, even if he was overly forward with his daughter. But such behavior could be easily brushed off by the rest of society as a mere cultural difference – the Count was simply so used to his own country's code of etiquette that such a breach could be forgiven. Not to mention that he was also a Count. Being royalty always helped in such matters. Yes, there was always the Count's status to consider.

Edith coincidentally entered the foyer just after the Count left, and took a moment to observe the situation before speaking.

"What does it read?" A good question. Mrs. Victoria took it upon herself to wave it in everyone's face so they too could bask in its glory. Seras blinked when it was her turn, before gently tugging it out of her mother's gloved claws to get a better look.

_Lord Dracul the Fifth of Wallachia requests the pleasure of Mr. and Mrs. Victoria and their daughters at dinner on Saturday, the nineteenth of April, at seven o'clock in the evening. R.S.V.P._

"Such an elegant hand, such perfect manners!" Mrs. Victoria gushed, wasting no time to grab it back from Seras once again. After that, there were no objections to the nightly walks the Count began to request of Seras.

They were harmless enough. The Count always arrived at the Victoria household at twilight and never much earlier due to his "affliction," and escorted Seras on a stroll around the neighborhood. One of the housemaids even trailed a respectful distance behind.

Their conversations ranged from politics to Greek folklore to petty gossip, and Seras felt that underneath the rugged exterior she had found a common soul. Someone who saw her as an equal. By the fourth week they didn't even exchange the proper greeting of curtsies and civil games; they didn't need them. Seras thought it exhilarating.

There were no off-limit topics, no wrong answers, and no fears of making a social blunder because neither of them cared. Seras found it so liberating, beautiful even, to speak to someone outside her family and close friend group without constraint. She even brought him in to her otherwise secret world of police dreams and dramas.

"How adventurous, Police Girl. You really stole them? At that age?" The Count was unsurprisingly pleased with the fact that she'd had a childhood habit of reading confidential files from her father's desk when he was in the Force.

"I wouldn't call it stealing, you know." She pouted as they turned a corner. "I prefer to recall it as a mere extended reading practice. I never neglected to return them." The Count laughed.

"But as a ten year-old child, at midnight?" His grin was mischevious. "It seems you cannot cease to surprise me." He patted the hand she'd looped through his arm. Usually such forward actions were reserved for betrothed couples, but what Seras' parents didn't know couldn't hurt them.

"But why such fascination with crime instead of dolls, hmm? You were not a normal child – you are not a normal girl. Are you, perhaps, as ill in the mind as I?" He guided them toward the closing shopfronts, away from the road where a carriage passed by. Seras noticed a spray of mud catch the bottom hem of his great coat and couldn't help her smile.

"Need I remind again you that I am a lady and not a girl?" Seras sighed, shaking her head with a feigned scowl.

The Count laughed again, loud and throaty. It made her feel so unbelievably accomplished when she was able to make him laugh. She never heard outside of their walks. "Of course not, Police Girl, of course not. But you've yet to answer my question."

Seras bit her lip, and counted the cracks in the pavement as they made their way. Aside from the occasional carriage and the Victorias' favorite maid Nora trailing behind them, they had a good bit of privacy.

"Well, I suppose… I suppose it makes the most sense to me. My father, of course, made a lasting impression on my choice, but the philosophy of crime and punishment is right in of itself." She paused. That was one reason, but wasn't the whole truth. "I-I, I've always been jealous that the officers are able to do something."

"Oh?"

"I-" Seras sucked a shaky breath. She'd never actually told anyone this before, not even Pip. Hopefully the Count hadn't been hoping to court a member of the Cult of Domesticity. "I fear I would waste away if I were to be just another wife. I would be deeply unhappy if my main purpose in life was to breed children and host garden parties. Such an occupation is noble in its own way, to be certain, but when I'm faced with the prospect I feel terribly trapped."

"I feel as though there is so much more I could do, but none of it is allowed. Medicine, law, writing, teaching – no man would ever allow such a soft and silly woman like me to practice them, would he?" Her smile was thin. "The Force was my best option, what with the connections of my father and the years of secret study I've dedicated to it. But I am fortunate, I suppose, in that I've always found the Force to be more interesting than law or writing." She didn't dare look up at the Count. She didn't think she'd be able to face disapproval from him.

He spoke after a long moment. "Do you ever truly intend to marry, Police Girl?"

Seras jerked her head up in surprise at the amused, almost pleased tone of his voice. His smile, sinister to her at one time, was now strangely soft. It made her heart skip a beat.

"O-of course!" She persisted. "I could do both." The Count merely squeezed her hand, and they continued on their way. Seras couldn't keep her heart still, because after that he never let it go.

However, their walks could never last for long. After a brief lapse, her illness had returned enough to make her weak and dizzy by the time they'd returned. Not that she'd ever tell the Count that, though – the last time she admitted as much he cut their walking distance by half, effectively cutting their time together short. Seras wasn't about to have that happen again.

They always took the same streets at the same red and orange hours, her hand never straying from the crook of his arm. He seemed to get irritated if it did, and the Count was no fun when he was irritated. But regardless of how much time they spent together, that was about all she knew about him. His name, where he hailed from, his cynical opinion on politics here and there. There was never any substance, never anything to go off of. No birth date, no family, no visible friends, not too many hobbies. She didn't even know what business he did as a Count. Every time she'd try to ask, he'd somehow sidestep around it and end up getting a bit too much information out of her instead.

Eventually he returned her home, and she would go straight to bed where she would hope to dream of him – but usually ended up with terrible nightmares instead. Over the weeks the nightmares morphed to night terrors complete with red eyes, gleaming fangs, snarling jaws, and some dark creature stalking her… watching her… all the time…

She woke in the dead of night to blood curdling screams, screams that paralyzed her.

It was only when they finally ceased did she realize that they were her own.

____________________________________

Seras, Edith, and Mr. Victoria sat in the drawing room, waiting for their mother to finish… whatever it was that needed done before they left for the dinner party. Seras sat on the settee, back ramrod straight, wringing her hands nervously. Edith sat almost despondently next to her. Mr. Victoria was at the writing desk, thoroughly involved with a novel. The ticking of the grandfather clock and the muffled commands of Mrs. Victoria were the only things to be heard.

"I do wish she'd hurry." Seras said after a while, looking at the setting sun through the windowpane. It was already five and twenty minutes after six o'clock, and they were expected at seven! Edith glanced at her from the corner of her eye.

"Really? I'm quite well staying put right here." Her voice wasn't mean-spirited or condescending or… anything, really. It made Seras feel unsettled.

"Oh, come off it." Seras said half-heartedly, not in the mood to reprimand her sister for her bad attitude. It had become all too common as of late, and she had decided that she was going to be happy to-night regardless if Edith liked it or not.

Edith only looked away and didn't bother to respond.

A few long moments later Mrs. Victoria made her entrance, carrying with her the strong scent of perfume and mothballs, which made Seras start considering that it was early May.

"Why is everyone simply lazing about?" Mrs. Victoria scolded them, wagging her finger around is if it were a loaded gun. Mr. Victoria turned to her, an eyebrow raised in silent question, and Edith only stood to leave the drawing room for the foyer.

"Have you made arrangements, my dear?" Mr. Victoria marked his place in his novel and swiftly set it in the hidden drawer before shutting it with a snap. Mrs. Victoria laughed rather dryly, as if he had made some inside joke, before turning to Seras.

"Are you to tell me that you believe such an outfit is… presentable?" Her mother snapped.

Seras started, mouth agape. What, had her mother expected her to wear a ball gown? Her simple and subtlety beautiful gossamer evening dress would suit her just fine! Seras thought that the sweetheart neckline even made it borderline suggestive.

"Of course!" Seras didn't bother to hide the fact that she was offended. Her mother only rolled her eyes.

"And I suppose it is your silly quirks that piques the Count's interest, is it not?" Mrs. Victoria sighed with a disapproving shake of her head, using a tone of voice that was better suited for a petulant child.

Seras didn't have anything to say to that.

"Off we go then!" Mrs. Victoria flipped her shawl around her shoulders like one of those French women. "Come come, off we go!" Mrs. Victoria cheered as she returned to shuffling her family into their newly-washed coach, choosing to ignore Nora's pleas of setting a return time and Seras' request of a short toilet break.

Thankfully for Seras, the Count's London home in the Nottinghill district wasn't terribly far from their Kensington address. It was a fact that, in Seras' opinion, terribly distressed Mrs. Victoria far more than it should have. But they managed to arrive without being attacked by paupers who wanted to sell their gold chains, so all was well.

The Count's townhome was made of hand-cut cobblestone and was framed by imposing arched white windows. It took up the space of two regular townhomes, and looked utterly out of place in a neighborhood of starving artists and odd-job journalists. The windows glowed comfortingly in the fading light of the sun. The shadows seemed to be darker here, but that was probably because no one had come to light the lamp posts yet. Seras swore she heard her mother mumble something about "those lazy painters" under her breath.

Seras stumbled out of the coach just in time to see the Count throw open his front door with open arms, a wide grin spread across his face.

"Welcome, welcome to my home!" He bellowed, stepping down the long front staircase with his arms still outstretched. Had it been anyone else, the theatrics would've been too dramatic for Seras. But since it was him, she laughed. He seemed to hear her and looked her way, teeth flashing and obnoxiously red duster dancing in a sudden gust of wind.

"We're honored to be here, My Lord." Mr. Victoria chose to ignore the excitement of the Count and gave a short, stiff bow. Mrs. Victoria curtsied daintily, and Edith copied her, albeit begrudgingly. Seras glanced at her family as they prostrated, and then back up at the Count with a mischievous smile.

He matched her smile with a wicked grin, but did not speak.

"Will you stand out here until the storm begins? Really now, have the English no sense?" The Count floated down the last set of stairs to join the Victorias as they straightened. "Do you absurd Englishmen enjoy dancing in the rain, I wonder?" He grabbed Seras' arms to pull her a bit too forcefully toward the staircase, the same smile from before present. She ignored the fact that he had yet to greet the rest of her family – surely he'd do so in a moment, once they'd had theirs.

"Dancing in the rain? Why no, I'd rather not." Seras protested, wiggling her arm in his vice grip. He was holding a bit too tightly, and it was starting to hurt. She tried to keep smiling, but every time she tried to nudge her bicep free his grip would only tighten. But no one had noticed that – oh no, her mother was too busy basking in the splendor of the Count's home, her father absorbed in the clouds and the prospects of a thunder storm, and Edith…

Actually, Edith had noticed. Even though she was last in their little parade, from what Seras could tell by means of (what she hoped were) covert backward glances, Edith was watching them intently. She wasn't pleased, either. Seras forced herself away when a frown threatened to tug at her lips. She would allow no unhappiness tonight.

The Count pulled her, almost flaunted her, by the standing butler who looked anything rather than amused. She gasped when she stepped into the foyer – if you could even call it that. Everything was so grand, so obviously labored over for many years. The floor underneath them was made of shining white marble, and the ornate French paneled walls sloped to an elegant cathedral ceiling complete with a glimmering chandelier. Large, brightly colored oil paintings of duck hunts, tea parties, and smiling ladies eclectically lined the walls. Seras personally thought that the panels were decoration enough, but didn't say anything.

"I take it that you approve?" The Count hadn't released his hold in the slightest even though there was no need for it anymore. Seras squirmed a bit again, but her smile wasn't false even as she practically had to throw her bonnet and shawl to the butler before the Count dragged her away.

"Oh, your home is the most lovely I have ever seen!" Seras sighed dreamily.

He guided them in to a spacious mahogany paneled hallway lined with slightly more serious oil paintings. Elegant Redcoats stared after her as they made their way to one of the middle doors, and Seras momentarily wondered if he had forgotten the rest of the his guests.

The Count laughed dryly. "Police Girl, this place is little more than a rat's nest lined with tinsel." He paused before he opened the door, his hand on the knob. Seras could hear muffled laughter and conversation from inside and automatically turned to the door.

"One day, Police Girl, I will be able to show you something of true beauty." His voice was low and eyes alight with _something_. Seras' mouth went dry, and found that the Count had gotten close.

Their chests almost brushed, and Seras could even faintly see the outline of his eyes though his darkened lenses. They seemed to be large and full of passion, framed with thick lashes, but unfortunately still hidden from sight. She could feel his breath caress her forehead when she craned her head to look him in the eye, as she barely made it up his shoulders in height. For a moment, they were on a different plane, one that consisted only of them.

But then footsteps and voices sounded at the end of the hallway – most likely her family finally catching up with them.

Seras broke gaze first and quietly took a step back, finally getting out of his hold. He had actually managed to wrinkle the sleeve of her evening dress. She looked to her family, and then to the Count. There was still a thin margin of time left.

"I would enjoy as much." Seras whispered as she carefully avoided his heavy gaze. She missed the odd, calculating smile that appeared for a moment and disappeared almost as quickly. Instead she saw the Count let go of the doorknob and smile graciously at her family.

"Now that my maid staff has bored you with the cloak room, I'd suggest it be time to join the rest of the party." Count laughed with that same gracious smile.

The Count swiftly opened the door with a little bow and held it in such a way until all had entered the room, the picture of a considerate gentleman. Immediately upon entering, she wished that he hadn't.

They entered some sort of cheery sitting room stuffed with expensive French sofas and oriental artwork, a gorgeous golden piano-forte played upon by a slender lady, and crowded to the brim with people who outclassed the Victorias by miles. Seras suddenly felt naked in last year's fashions; should she have pinned her curls tighter? Should she have worn a darker color in a different style? The lilac braided in to her hair became little more than weeds in comparison to the bejeweled combs in the other ladies' hair. As they stood in the doorway, Seras found her and her family the newest objects of scrutiny.

There were several young ladies Seras recognized from the ton. All of which were just around her age and, in Seras' opinion, better dressed, better looking, and undoubtedly gossiping about her and Edith. A cold, sick feeling twisted in the pit of her stomach. Had the Count invited these other ladies here, or had they come with their families? She instinctively touched the mother-of-pearl brooch she had indulged in wearing that evening. Was possible that she wasn't the only lady he was courting? Up until this moment she thought she had been.

As silly as she knew it was, Seras couldn't help but feel the sting of betrayal.

The Count made his way through the Victoria throng to be visible and able to address the room. "And now the last of our friends have finally arrived!" He announced with another boisterous laugh that was chorused by everyone else present, prompting a few awkward chuckles from Mr. and Mrs. Victoria. Seras forced a smile, and didn't look at Edith. She was either going to be her charming self or an absolute grouch, and Seras couldn't bear to see the later any longer.

The little lady playing on the piano-forte had stopped when the Count began speaking, plunging the room in a momentary silence.

"I have been assured dinner will be served 'quite soon.' So let's make ourselves comfortable, shall we?" The Count laughed again and everyone laughed with him. He turned and made toward the huddled mass of stiff black suits and gold watches who surrounded the brandy table like a watering hole. Mr. Victoria followed suit.

Seras awkwardly stood by the door as her mother warbled off toward a set of better-dressed ladies, only to have her arm taken in to the familiar crook of Edith's. Seras looked to her sister in surprise, but Edith had her eyes on the group of young ladies with a beautiful, easygoing smile spread on her face. Seras blinked and followed her sister's gaze, trying to relax her features and give off the confidence that had seemed to flee from her as soon as the Count let her out of his grasp.

Of course that harpy Caroline Binsworth was there, along with three of her overdressed friends. They sat together in a tightly-knit cluster near the piano-forte, delicate French tea cups elegantly balanced on their laps, and a tray of dutifully untouched sweetmeats on the table stand next to them. Their dresses were of the utmost spring fashion, Seras realized with a start, and they had made no excuses when it came to their jewelry. And even though they were well aware of the approaching Victoria sisters, they made no attempt to make room for them in their circle, and only offered snide smiles hidden behind graceful gloved hands.

"Caroline, how good it is to see you!" Edith addressed the one she knew best once they'd finally reached the group. They stood on the outside of the little circle, looking down on the girls who had barely bothered to look up at them.

"Edith, it's wonderful to see you. Where have you been all this time?" Caroline asked with a thin-lipped smile, her cheeks stretching painfully over her skeleton features. At Caroline's address, Seras noticed that the other three girls had finally found them worth their interest.

"Here and there, you do know how the Season goes." Edith said with that practiced, easy charm. Caroline nodded in response, and her smile stayed in place as she moved from Edith to Seras.

"And how do you do, Seras?" She asked in one those irritatingly polite voices that made it clear that speaking to you was the last thing she wanted to do. But unlike with Edith, Seras could see a well-hidden dislike, malice even. "Are you acquainted with these ladies?" But at least she hadn't forgotten her manners.

"I am quite well, thank you. I hope you are the same. And yes, I have met them. How do you do, Miss Georgiana, Miss Alice, Miss Charlotte?" Seras put a little extra effort in to her smile, making sure her dimples showed and her eyes sparkled a little, as if she was actually interested in what Caroline had to say. Her strategy seemed to work a bit, too – Caroline actually seemed to be a bit put out by Seras' display of kindness.

The other girls said their hello's with as few words as civilities dictated, and Seras wondered if they expected the sisters to stand outside their circle the entire time.

"How lovely your outfits are, dears." Edith cooed sweetly, laying a hand on the silky quarter sleeve of Caroline's peach evening gown. Seras retained her picture-worthy smile even when Georgiana and Alice started whispering and giggling while throwing glances in the Victoria sisters' direction.

Seras sincerely wondered why the Count had invited girls like them. He had told her many times that he despised shallow, boring, judgmental people.

"Why thank you Edith. And you look as stunning as ever." Caroline's voice wasn't as welcoming as it had been before she had to return Edith's compliment. Since no attempt to make room on either of the couches the ladies sat on was made, and no one had suggested they pull up a chair from another part of the room, Seras assumed that they were expected to end their conversation soon or just stand there and listen to their "betters" like they "were expected to."

"Yes, they are quite lovely tonight, indeed." Their strained attempt at conversation abruptly stopped, and Seras practically jumped around at the voice.

The smile melted from Edith's face. Seras', on the other hand, brightened. The Count was here, thank God! And then she realized what he had said, and an emotion in the pit of her stomach fouled her mood.

There was a rushed chorus of hellos and curtsies, which he waved away with an elegant flick of the wrist. He was wearing what was probably a priceless onyx thumb ring tonight.

"Why My Lord, you certainly quite the charmer!" Caroline gushed rather forwardly, leaning in her seat toward the nobleman. Seras' smile was quickly becoming hard to maintain when she saw the smile that the Count gave Caroline. He shouldn't have been smiling at all!

"Only to those who deserve it, Miss." Seras' jaw almost dropped. He should've been insulting them, he shouldn't have been flirting with them! What was going on? _What was going on? What was going on?_

It was suddenly painful to be involved in the same conversation. Seras couldn't help it; she was hopelessly jealous and wanted his words to be directed toward her, not Caroline. God, he hated those types of girls! Why was he showing them any sort of attention? She was his Police Girl, wasn't she?

"That is why I came to express how beautiful Miss Seras looks this evening." Seras' jaw actually did drop this time, along with the other girls'. He had been forward to the point of almost being unacceptable. There was a short silence during which the Count didn't even try to fill or apologize for – his smug little smile told the story well enough.

"Also, dinner is served. Please join us in the dining room." He smile only brightened when Seras and Edith couldn't even give a response, and all the other ladies looked dumbly at him before passing the sisters without a word.

Seras bit her lip and looked to Edith as the other guests left the room, leaving them alone for a brief moment.

"Edith-" Seras began.

"Do you see what I see now, Seras?" Edith asked with a small voice, a tired voice. Her smile was sad, but at least she was smiling. "Well, perhaps not all of what I see. But perhaps a little of the wool before your eyes has been pulled away." Seras didn't know what to say to that, just like she hadn't known what to say to the Count.

"Come, we'll miss dinner if we dawdle too long, hmm?" Edith grabbed Seras' arm, pulling after the other guests who had by now been long in the dining room.

__________________________

The Count's sitting room was just as elegant as his drawing room, and was complete with heavy oriental curtains, Persian rugs, and a crackling fire. The sun had set hours ago, and the night had an unusual chill to it - probably from a passing storm, the Count had said. Like before the men sat together in a huddled mass around the brandy. The older women gossiped on thick goose-down chairs around the imported Italian mantelpiece and under the watchful eye of a portrait of their very host. Or, at least someone who resembled him a great deal.

"It is a portrait of Count Dracul the First… commonly known as Vlad." the Count had explained with little embellishment and a coy smile. Seras had, of course, been the one to ask about it. She had been sitting with her mother and the older ladies because she hadn't been able to take any more of the accusing glares from Caroline and her cronies. Apparently (and unfortunately) they were all big fans of the Count. Edith, the only lady that hadn't been complemented by the Count, was saved Caroline's wrath and was able to sit with the group.

"Your great grandfather then, my Lord?" She asked, biting her lip when she realized that yes, they were not in private and no, it wasn't acceptable to ask such prying questions to those who outclassed you. But the Count only smiled as he leaned against the mantle, and gave the portrait a thoughtful glance.

"Something along those lines, I suppose." 

He and the Count in the picture were so similar! They could've been mistaken for brothers, twins even, had it not been for the ancient fur and armor draped over the pictured man. Seras looked from the portrait to the Count, and back to the portrait again. They were too similar, and the current Count had that awful smile on his face again. They shared that smile, she realized with a start.

"Excuse me, My Lord." It was Edith.

Seras blinked. The Count's smile faded slightly.

"Yes?" Well, at least he was responding to her. The Count reached for the glass of brilliantly red wine he'd set on the mantle earlier and gave it a thoughtful swish before taking a sip. For whatever reason, Edith lost whatever color she had a moment before and was suddenly paler than a ghost.

"Might you be so kind as to direct me to the powder room?" She asked after a moment, her voice quieter than before. The Count smiled unkindly.

"Ah yes, it seems to me that you are in need of a touch of powder." Seras gasped and opened her mouth to rebuke his rude comment only for him to wave her off. Seras glowered. How dare he!

"How can-" Seras started to interject.

"Yes, I am indeed, so if you'd be so kind…" Edith cut off Seras so quickly Seras didn't know what to make of it. The Count only laughed, causing the older women to laugh even though they didn't understand just what was so funny about the situation.

"The powder room, as you English so delicately refer to it, is the last on the left." His response was prompt, all too curt and too straightforward for Edith to feel comfortable. But after a stiff thank you managed without making eye contact, Edith turned on her heel and tried to leave the room with as much grace she could muster. It was hard to be graceful when you were shaking so bad you were afraid you would fall over.

After she left the drawing room, the Count pulled a high-backed leather chair to the fire and joined the group of ladies.

"Police Girl, I assume your inquisitive mind wonders why so many generations of my heritage share the same namesake?" While the older ladies gaped at such an informal greeting, Mrs. Victoria looked downright excited by the fact that her daughter was such a favorite.

For the moment, Edith was forgotten.

She moved swiftly and silently as Sir Integra had taught her, her skirts in one hand and her boots in the other. The heels were too heavy, Sir Integra had explained, and would give her away too easily. Apparently the beast had exceptional hearing, like that of a bat's.

Edith shuddered at the thought before she reached the last door on the right and gently pulled it open, revealing a relatively used library lined with deep oak bookcases and matching glossy furniture. It was all tied together with a massive self-portrait of the Count, who she felt to be watching her every move from over the fireplace at the other end of the library.

Edith tiptoed into the garish room, carefully avoiding the gawking head of the stuffed cheetah rug, and set her shoes next to it with a grimace. She had never been a fan of big game, nor any sort of hunting for that matter.

On her most recent visit with Sir Integra, Edith had told her of the dinner invitation, and Sir Integra had seen a chance. Over the past several weeks, Sir Integra had made it clear that the Count was not a good person – not even a person, actually. He was a literal monster who had taken an uncomfortable liking to her sweet sister, of all people, but just what type of monster he was hadn't been specified.

And that was why she was here tonight.

Sir Integra and her retainer, Walter, apparently had a hunch about what the Count really was.

"A demon fit only for the ninth ring of hell." Sir Integra occasionally spit out when he came up in conversation.

It was up to her to use this opportunity to gather clues to report back to the Hellsing manor so Sir Integra and Walter would know just exactly what they were dealing with! So they could help and protect Seras from that awful thing!

"What does he want my sister for?" It wasn't the first time she'd brought up the question and wouldn't be the last, either.

Sir Integra sighed, her exhale layered with more irritation than concern. "As I've told you countless times before, nothing can be taken as entirely certain. However," Sir Integra folded her hands on the long, varnished tabletop decorated by unfinished paperwork and applications. Edith perked up – there usually wasn't a "however."

"However, she is alive."

It was so blunt Edith wasn't able to take it in all the way.

"E-excuse me, Sir?" 

"This is not the first time the Count has been in England, Miss Victoria, but it is the first time he has been under this pseudonym. He was most acquainted with my grandfather, who in his journals wrote that after the Count took a certain liking to lady, she was found dead in her bed not soon after."

"And so because Seras has not yet been killed…?" It was hard for her to keep the hysteria out of her voice.

"Your sister's predicament is quite different." Sir Hellsing broke her off, no doubt sensing the oncoming flood. "My grandfather recorded only one other instance of the Count taking enough interest in a lady to court her, but in your sister's circumstance it seems he has not resorted to seduction."

"Or, he's not had the opportunity to do so." Edith remarked under her breath, thinking back to their meeting in the library some time ago. Sir Hellsing raised an eyebrow, but didn't press further. She watched the young girl for a moment, waiting for her to say something, and only picked up her fountain pen once more when she proved mute. Their meetings always took place during her paperwork catch-up hour, the only hour she could afford to give to the girl.

"He fancies her." 

Sir Hellsing had just finished signing "Wingates" on a document when Edith piped up again.

"Pardon?"

"The Count. He… he actually fancies her… and why he attempts no seduction, even when they are alone so often… I believe he does not wish to ruin her. Could it be that he cares for her? " Edith laughed a little, more at herself and the irony in the absolute mess of a situation. Sir Integra could only stare at the crumbling girl before her before forcing herself to deftly push her paperwork off the document of a certain nobleman's house plan - a house plan she may or may not have illegally obtained through bribery.

"And Nora, she invites him in every day, My God, and I can no longer-"

Sir Hellsing spoke quickly to cut the girl off. "Now, to begin with…"

Sir Hellsing's words and warnings still rang clear in Edith's mind.

_"You will need to gain access to the first floor library, a motion that I believe shouldn't prove terribly difficult."_

Edith glanced over the towering bookcases of leather bound texts with a certain degree of relief. If this wasn't a library, she didn't know what else could possibly account for one. She stole another glance at the cheetah rug.

Well, maybe a trophy room.

_"There is a secret door, entrance, loose floorboard, wall panel, something that will lead you to a hidden staircase that leads to a basement. You are to thoroughly examine it and report back."_

Sir Hellsing had told her ever so matter-of-factly. _"Our conclusion on his identity rests on the information found in the basement – information you will bring back to us."_

Edith tucked a stray dark brown lock behind her ear as she scanned over the room for any obvious panels or cellar doors, and frowned. The room was large and would take much of the time she didn't have to look over. And why was she, the inexperienced, worried sister, doing the most dangerous work of all? She trudged to the fireplace and stuck her head in to look up the chimney.

While Sir Hellsing sat warm and safe in her pretty estate, she was lurking around in the literal nest of a monster with no time to spare! Edith pulled back from the fireplace with a huff, hoping she hadn't gotten any soot on her pretty baby blue evening gown. She looked up to glare at the Count's portrait. Why couldn't he have just stayed away from England? No one except for Seras wanted him here anyway.

**_Grr….rrrr…._ **

Edith immediately stiffened, her pupils dilated and her body going to a fight-or-flight response. Oh… oh god no.. it couldn't be…

**_Bark! Bark bark bark!_ **

She gripped the cool stone of the mantle, too petrified to look behind her. There was another growl, and she instinctively knew it wasn't going anywhere. 

Edith forced herself to first, let go of the mantle.   
Then to slowly turn around, one foot forward at a time.   
And, then - dear God. 

It was the stuff of her deepest, realest nightmares. And that growl… she remembered hearing it outside her window some nights, as if it had been trying to keep her up all night in fear…

A hellhound stood before her. Edith had never seen one before to be able to correctly identify it, but it was unmistakable. Deep, dark black fur covered a muscular, wolven frame that came above her waist. It boasted oversized claws, quivering fangs and crimson red eyes. It cocked its head to the side, and several other disgusting eyes opened along the rest of its body.

Edith gasped and took a step back, the back of her heading rubbing against the stone of the mantle. How could she ever have been so foolish as to think that the Count didn't have some second line of defense? She was in the literal lair of the beast, how could she have thought it would've been so easy? How could Sir Hellsing ever have thought it would've been so easy?

The dog stood in front of her, salivating like a rabid beast leering at easy prey. And maybe she was his prey. Maybe hellhounds ate mortals for supper; perhaps they tasted quite nice.

Edith hoped to God that wasn't the case, and clutched at the silver crucifix hidden in her bosom for comfort. She managed to pull it out from her blouse and brought it to her lips – and then a funny thing happened.

The hellhound growled, but took a step back.

Edith started, the crucifix still at her lips. The hound glowered back up at her, but didn't show any new signs of aggression or hostility. Slightly empowered, Edith took another step forward. The Hound took one back. Another step forward, another step back.

Eventually the dog wasn't even salivating anymore. It closed a few of its gruesome extra eyes, and even had the indecency to look a bit bored of their game. Edith looked from the hellhound, who sat on the cheetah rug with a certain degree of ownership, to the door. She had to leave while there was still a chance!

Edith gave her crucifix one last kiss for good luck and made a mad dash to the door, inwardly thanking God when she felt the cool brass knob under her fingers, and then the hard oak door against her back. And then she couldn't stop running. All Edith knew was that she had to get out of that house. Oh, God, was it following her? She didn't dare look back! She threw herself down that damn long hallway, almost crying when she heard wisps of the party still going on in the sitting room, crying at the unfairness of it all. She had stood of the precipice of death while they enjoyed after-dinner drinks not even a few hundred feet away…

_Was it following her?_

_Was it following her?_

_Would it get her?_

Edith burst out of the hall and into the brightly lit foyer, pushing past surprised servants and the nonplussed butler, and finally out the thick oak door and down that awful staircase to the cold pavement below. The cobblestone was ice on the soles of her feet, but she didn't stop until she was hidden in the shadows of the alley in between the Count's townhome and his neighbors, hugging her arms protectively around herself. The air was muggy and smelled like stale beer and urine. She remembered she had forgotten her boots in the Count's library and consciously shifted her weight on the cold stone under her feet, but thanked God that at least now she was safe. She resolved to stay outside, no matter how uncomfortable she became.

She was safe from that monster, that terrible demon… and she hadn't even found anything to show for it. Edith's shoulders sagged. Oh, god, now what would Sir Hellsing do? Would she still help Seras anyway? Edith sighed and let go of the street light, looking around rather ashamedly. Couldn't she do anything right?

And then, she realized with a flush of sheer panic and shame, that she had left her family in that accursed home with the hellhound! Her breath reverted in to quick hitches. Oh, oh how could she have just run by without telling them? Just how great of a coward was she?

But, she heard no screaming. Perhaps there was still time to-

A light tap on her shoulder.

She stiffened and turned, a glare planted firmly on her pretty, fair face. Edith wasn't in the mood tonight. She had had just about enough.

A rather handsome but haggard youth stood not much older than her stood in front of her, a frown on his face. She raised a skeptical eyebrow at his apparel – a muddied farmer's outfit half in shreds? She took a hesitant step back, a step away. The youth didn't seem to be phased.

"Didn't need you after all, hmm? Seems you were sent out." The youth asked, crudely jerking his thumb in the direction of the Count's town house. His posh accent stood in stark contrast to his clothing. Edith opened her mouth to respond, to tell him that no, she was expected back inside in a moment, but the youth beat her to it. It didn't occur to her to ask how he knew she had been with the Count at all, or how he'd appeared in the dead-end alley with her.

"Why else would you be out here, my dear? But have no fear - it's better this way. Easier this way." He was asking himself more than he was asking her. "I will resolve this issuse." The youth was still talking to himself, and Edith began to slowly back toward the stoop… only for her forearm to be caught in an iron grip.

The youth took a step forward, the moonlight illuminating his unnatural copper eyes and the gleam of his...fangs.

Fangs!

A vampire! She was face to face with a vampire, of all things! Edith took a frantic step back, crying out when she stepped on a piece of broken glass and effectively lost her footing. Oh, just her luck! Sharp bits of glass bit in to her legs and backside, opening little cuts that blotched her grown red. But that was the absolute least of her worries.

"Don't scream, miss, or I'll kill all those in the fancy house." Edith gaped at him, close mouthed and just barely biting back a scream. God, her family was in there! She couldn't unleash this thing on them! She couldn't sick a monster on them; that was what she had been trying to avoid this entire time!

The thing, the vampire, didn't waste time in taking advantage of the situation and her pause, and solemnly stepped on her skirts as she tried to get up and pulled her up by the wrist hard enough to break it. Edith's breaths came quickly once again, and though she was desperately trying to put up a fight she was easily overpowered and pinned against the cold stone wall. Her eyes widened.

"Please. Please no." She whimpered, trying to keep quiet for fear of what he'd consider a "scream." But of course the fresh-faced vampire ignored her pleas and freed one of his hands to roughly jerk her head to the side, revealing her neck. She flinched when he gave her ripped her Crucifix off her neck with a pull on the string.

"I appreciate your choice in jewelry, Miss, but it's a bit out of style." He leaned back a bit, a disarming smile on his lips. Edith felt the sting of betrayal, though in the back of her mind she knew she had no one to blame.

"Don't worry Miss, I won't be long, no… I swear not to take too much of your time." His breath was cold on her ear and his lips ghosted south, landing on the nape of her neck. Something sharp teasingly scraped the skin over her jugular before-

Pain.

Sudden. Intense. Excruciating. All-enveloping.

And in that time, she realized that he wouldn't kill anyone inside. He knew of the Count. He wouldn't dare. How foolish, how gullible she was – but in hindsight, she had proven to herself that she wasn't a coward. Had there been an actual threat to those inside, she would have prevented it.

She supposed she could be happy with that little comfort.

Finally, Edith screamed.

Seras noticed the Count and her father both frown at the same time, the former on an entirely different level of severity than the later. With the sudden cease in conversation, it was clear that everyone had heard the scream. There was a pause, and then:

"What in the world?"

Seras grew worried. "Where is Edith…?"

Another pause.

"My God…"

"Goddamn him!" the Count shouted, turning with such haste that he spilled the wine from his glass on to the bosom of one of Caroline's friends who had been standing a bit too close to be polite. She screamed in embarrassment and her group gathered flocked to her, but the Count pushed past them with a look so terrible no one dared say a word to admonish him. The Count threw the door open with a violent bang against the wall and ran down the hall, Mr. Victoria and the other men struggling to keep up with him.

"Edith! Edith!" Seras followed on the heels of the men, biting her lip when she heard her father's call, as he hoped Edith would pop out of one of the other rooms. He sounded so desperate, so fearful.

The Count led them through the dining room, through a door way, and in to the kitchen where groups of obviously concerned servants milled about, one group clamoring around the side door to the alley in an anxious heap and the other surrounding a large servant woman sitting on an overturned metal basin who looked about ready to go into a swoon. The Count, the men, and Seras clustered in to the tight place but didn't garner too much attention, much to the Count's annoyance.

"What has happened here? Stop your blubbering!" The Count rose his voice only slightly, but the sheer power and force behind his tone was enough to gain the total attention of the kitchen staff. The swooning woman cried out as she pushed herself off the basin, leaning on the shoulder of one of the pastry chefs.

"My Lord, I was nearest the door when there was the most awful bloodcurdling scream and looked out to see a person in the arms of the other…" She paused, as if unsure of what to say next.

"Good God," one of the men hissed. Mr. Victoria and Seras were silent.

"The hell do you mean by that?" The Count snapped, unamused with the woman's roundabout words.

"Oh no, I do not believe it was that thank Heavens!" The woman should her head back and forth as if trying to erase the thought out of her mind. "Oh no, no, it did not seem to be such. But when I looked behind to call for help and looked back, they-they had disappeared!" The woman seemed to have been put in to a state by their ghostly departure. The Count frowned and leaned against the wall, rubbing his temples. After a moment, he turned back to the men and Seras.

"Gentlemen, please form a rescue party and search the streets. They shan't have been able to go far. One man must take the ladies home, while Mr. Victoria and I will leave for the inspector." The Count was strangely composed for the amount of emotion shown only a few moments ago.

"The inspectors, at this time of night?" One of the men spat. It was true, it was already half-past one in the morning. Seras bristled at the implied accusation toward the Force… but knew that it wasn't without its faults.

"That is why Mr. Victoria and I will be fetching them." The Count snapped back as he pushed his way through the group to leave the kitchen. It was true – as foreign royalty, there would be no one who would dare refuse him, and as a former high-ranking member of the Force Mr. Victoria would be able to pull more than a few strings. Seras reached out and grabbed his sleeve as he brushed by her, stopping him abruptly. It would have been sweet, how acutely he had noticed, had it been under different circumstances.

"I will not leave." She wouldn't. He couldn't make her, and even if he forced her in to a carriage she'd only walk back after it dropped her off.

"Seras Victoria." Her father warned, no room for argument in his tone.

"I never asked you to." The Count effectively shut up both her and her father. "Please busy yourself in the drawing room." The Count's tone was curt as he pulled her father away and out of the kitchen, neatly flanked by the rest of the men. Seras left soon after, and made her way to the sitting room where she found an empty armchair. The rest of the ladies had been taken to their carriages, and the men had gone out into the night. Her father didn't say another word to her.

She sank in to the cool, sleek leather arm chair, staring into the fire. For a while, she couldn't think. She wasn't sure how long she had just been like that, but she knew it was long enough that everyone had gone and a servant had walked in to change the log. Seras refused to think that… that Edith could've been so violated… while she had just been sitting here…

Her fingers clenched around the armrests, and the answer came to her so quickly she almost had whiplash. Just what the hell was she doing, sitting here like some useless doll? Didn't she want to be a policewoman? Didn't she have more pride than this? This moping certainly wasn't going to help Edith at all!

Seras stood with a shaky resolve, promptly left the sitting room, and made for the front entrance. There were few servants around, and the ones she did happen to see only gave her looks of varying degrees of sympathy and pity. Seras forced herself to ignore them. To acknowledge their feelings, their emotions, would only make it harder for her to separate herself from her own and look at the scenario with a clear and rational mind.

The front was brightly lit, but the alley was suitably dark. There was a dim light in the very back, no doubt from the kitchen door. Seras slowly stepped in, looking around with wide eyes. Broken ale bottles… piles of rotting trash… broken glass…she jumped when a small animal scurried over the toes of her boots. And, not to mention, rats.

This was where Edith had been assaulted. Seras felt her resolve crumbling, fast.

How horrible it must've been… how absolutely terrified she must had been…

"Oh, Lord God, please," Seras choked out, shaking her folded hands at the sky in a desperate plea for help. "God, oh God, please find her, please oh please…" Seras' words were forced out in between wet sobs and hiccups, her throat raw and her body shaking with fading adrenaline. She slowly felt the growing fog leech the heat from her body, her fingers as numb as her mind.

"Our Father… Who art in Heaven… Hallowed be thy name…Thy-Thy kingdom come…" Seras whispered, wringing her cold, damp hands together again and again. But she couldn't finish the prayer. She blindly stumbled in the dark and leaned against one of the cold stone walls of the alley.

"Edith…. Edith…" Seras' voice was raw and cracked, and her knees started to shake. She slowly lowered her hands, her arms listlessly falling to her aide. She felt cold and empty, emotionally drained but still aware that she couldn't check out no matter how much of a comfort that would be.

A large gloved hand gripped her shoulder, offering a small bit of solace. Seras looked over her shoulder at her sympathizer, and wasn't terribly surprised when she saw it was the Count, even though he had supposedly left with the others.

"Why are you here?" Seras whispered as her teeth started to chatter. She hugged her arms to her body, the cold of the night finally starting to set in. She stiffened for a moment when the hand on her shoulder tailed down to her arm and drew her to him, much closer than they should have been. But it was dark and late at night, and there was no one in sight. They were completely alone - it was safe.

"Had I come later, would I have had to search for two missing sisters?" His voice dark and deep, as if from a forgotten dream – comforting, in a way. His grip on her was unyielding, as if he believed she too would disappear, and his voice was as solemn as she had ever heard it. He pulled her even closer, now bringing her side against his broad chest.

She felt her resolve crumble at the comforting contact, of the comfort he seemed to offer her. This night… this entire ordeal was too much for her to handle. She felt totally helpless and totally frustrated, scared and utterly terrified. The Count began to run his hand up and down the length of her arm in soothing strokes.

Then the dams broke loose. The tears fell quickly, hot and unforgiving. Her shoulders began to shake, but he didn't stop his comfort.

Seras turned and latched on to the Count like a lifeline, throwing her arms around his waist and laying her cheek against the soft maroon silk of his shirtvest. He smelled like smoke and iron. Her entire body was shaking, and she couldn't tell if it was from stress or the cold, and it seemed that the only thing she had control over was her ability to keep herself from breaking out in sobs. She had already taken too much of a liberty with him, and refused to ruin his shirt vest with her disgusting snot and tears.

She sniffled after a moment, still shaking, and braved a glance up at the Count. She gasped when she met his dark eyeglasses, his face displaying a sort of thoughtful expression, as if considering something. Seras looked down, ashamed of her actions, but not sorry for them. She regretfully began to loosen her hold on him, when suddenly his strong arms wrapped tightly around her and lured her in against his chest once again.

Seras took in another shaky breathe and then finally, a sob. And then the tears came once again.

They stayed like that for some time with the heavy black cloak the Count wore wrapped around them, never speaking, trying to maintain the silence that held together their fragile, intimate embrace. They only let go to walk around to the front of the Count's townhome when horses and calls were sounded, alerting them that the search party had returned.

No one gave any mind that Seras and the Count had been alone together all that time, and greeted them together. There were bigger things to worry about. The anxious group kept vigil in the Count's sitting room until the inspectors came to report in the wee hours of the morning.

Edith had not been spotted, had not been found, and had not left a trace.

Edith was absolutely nowhere to be found.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> perdita: lost


End file.
